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potatopossums · 3 years

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Insecurity and Boundaries: A Necessary Coexistence

Content Warning:

This post includes discussions / mentions of:

bodily insecurities, explicitly including dysmorphia, dysphoria, and implicitly including but not limited to eating disorders, weight

childhood trauma including shame, humiliation, fear

coping mechanisms, both healthy and unhealthy, including anxious avoidance, projection, masking, reflection

mentioned references to all of the above through lenses of morality, cis white feminism and sexualized body positivity

adhd

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Author's Note:

Written through the lens of adhd, anxiety, depression, queerness, transness, nonbinaryness, aromanticism, alterous attraction, and as always, questioning.

—

Ngl I've had the opportunity to date/"be with" (in whatever capacity) several quite attractive ppl, and the last couple have been great examples of something that actually kind of triggers me / turns me off.

I didn't really know what to make of it then, and I felt bad about it then too because I thought I was just being judgy. Not saying some of that isn't potentially still there, but i think i understand better now.

It honestly kind of scares me when I have the opportunity to have close relationships with people with bodily dysphoria/dysmorphia or strong insecurities. My brain has a really bad habit of being reflective when I'm feeling vulnerable. I just match people. It's a way of masking while relating to people. It's a defense mechanism. But it feels quite real in the moment and i often don't realize it's happening until it has already happened.

But as a nonbinary person who gets misgendered a lot at work, I've spent a lot of time now very acutely aware of my own body (as if i wasn't already). I don't tend to hate my body in a vacuum. I actually enjoy my body. I like how it looks in certain clothes; I like how I can trick the eye and make it look another way with other clothes, and then surprise, it's a different body underneath! I like how my body feels when i masturbate, i like how my body feels in the warm sun, i like how my body feels when i self-soothe. Even when I'm in pain, in some of those moment, i like that my body exists because I know something is happening inside me, something systematic and programmed, something beyond me that does it's evolutionary purpose, no matter how flawed. I've always had a curiosity about bodies in general (gender and sex completely aside). So when i say i love my body, i mean that.

Does it mean i don't struggle with dysphoria? Of course i struggle. And it makes me feel like shit.

Sure, I've got that Cis White Feminist Self-Loathing Intervention Voice in my head that says "all bodies are beautiful" (and she really means all women are beautiful but I'll co-opt her lines to fit my agenda). That voice is problematic because like. I like being beautiful, but why do I want to be beautiful, and what happens when I'm not beautiful? How do I guage whether I'm beautiful at any given moment? Isn't that largely subjective even with an overarching cultural & social standard? When I feel "ugly" — my cowlicks sticking up, teeth unbrushed, i feel too short, i feel i look too childish, I'm afraid my boobs are showing in a way i don't want to be seen, etc. — who's to say that someone else doesn't find some of those things attractive? So attractiveness is a poor method of confidence, despite how influential it still is on my brain and personality. That influence is fear based.

All that in mind, when I hear other people struggling with their bodies, especially in a Trans/Non-Binary/Dysphoric way, it really scares me. I mean, any bodily struggles scare me because I have my own insecurities to deal with. And when I'm in that state of really wanting to keep a connection because abandonment trauma + adhd, my vulnerable brain says that in order to impress someone, I must reflect relatably. So that has me digging back into my bodily insecurities. And I explore them as if I should be feeling them.

Let me unpack that. I'm avoidant with my anxieties. I don't talk about them, and I don't think about them much if I can help it, because when I think about them, that result can be largely painful, dramatic, and too emotionally volatile for me to handle. I always want to look put together, I want to feel secure enough to not need to ask for help, because those few times it went badly when I asked for help still stick with me (regardless of how long ago those moments were, and regardless of how many good times I've had where received actual help since). I remember the embarrassment and humiliation, the shame, the fear, the guilt. I remember wanting to make myself smaller, and how crushing that felt to do. I remember how little I understood of these wild and complex emotions, and all I knew was that I felt violated and disgusting. And I turned that inward. Because I had no external support.

So me saying that I explore my anxieties "as if I should be feeling them" is multi-pronged. It's Cis White Feminist Body Positivity, it's all those family members who modeled and normalized self-hatred for me from a young age, it's bodily dysphoria/dysmorphia at being misgendered, it's me trying to convince myself that my body truly is okay and that my negative inner voice doesn't know what it's talking about due to it's poor influences, and it's me ultimately not being able to reconcile all that on my own (or fast enough, thanks adhd) and resorting to anxious avoidance of my insecurities as if that solves them.

And then, when I hear someone I might kind of want to be intimate with start to talk about their insecurities, my brain panics. It says, "If you go in there, you will lose it. You will fall into the same hole they're in. You will have to suffer just as much for them, and for yourself. You will lose all your energy and you will start to hate yourself. They will treat your body the way they treat their body. You will be made to hate yourself."

And even though I know plenty of people with dysphoria/dysmorphia and other bodily struggles absolutely won't do those sorts of things, I also know that projection is a thing. And considering how poor I am at boundaries and how I tend to adopt unhealthy relationship dynamics due to my avoidance, I know that it would just start a bad cycle for me. Even with all the empathy and understanding in the world, I simply cannot root myself in a situation that would cause me to loathe myself.

And again, in case this wasn't clear: this is absolutely not a statement about people with bodily confidence issues as a whole. I am not trying to villainize or demonize or moralize their experiences. That is markedly the opposite of what I intend here.

But it took a long time for me to get to this point in my self-awareness. And i wanted to share it because i want other people to be able to reach an understanding of themselves too, whatever that understanding might entail. Yeah, it's a little cliche, but our projections and fears about others can have a lot to do with our fears about ourselves. It's important to be self-aware, even if that doesn't immediately solve the problem(s).

I tend to really like confident people because of this. That attraction has it's own roots in confidence issues, and its own potential flaws. And until I can change my own avoidant anxiety, I'm going to find new ways to project my avoidance and shame onto others, regardless of whether they are confident or unconfident, dysphoric or not.

But, just because I'm projecting doesn't mean that I'm unworthy of boundaries. Even if my behaviors are unhealthy, even if I do need to work to change those things (and even though I actively want to change those things), it is still healthy for me to know my limits. It's healthy to know what triggers me. It's good for me to realize these things and step back, even if the relationship I'm leaving/not starting is arguably "good." (And that assumption is a whole other topic for another post.)

So, along with whatever other epiphanies you might have received from this read, here's my major takeaway that I want to leave you with:

Your boundaries are okay. Even if they're based in anxiety, even if they're based in unhealthy coping mechanisms, even if you want to change your unhealthy behaviors/mindset. Your boundaries do not need to pass any social justice or morality tests in order to be valid. Your boundaries do not have to "make you grow." Your boundaries are not bad, even if you feel like they keep you from being the best version of yourself.

The only way you can actually grow is if you respect yourself enough to respect and enforce your boundaries. The only way you can feel comfortable and happy and healthy is if you respect your boundaries.

So please do that for yourself. Please respect your boundaries. I know it's very hard, especially for people-pleasers. I know it's hard for you avoidant types. I know it's hard for those of us who mask and reflect.

But please, just a little bit at a time, respect yourself. Even if that means disappointing or hurting others with a "no."

And please, please, please surround yourself with people who respect your boundaries and stand up for you. Of all the work I've tried to do alone, nothing compares to the effectiveness and growth I've experienced when I've been around radically affirming people — people who fought for my right to say no; people who defended my boundaries no matter what they entailed; people who stood up for my pronouns at work; people who validated my life experiences, labels, queerness, and questioning. It can be difficult to find people like that in real life, but please stay in the company of people who do that for you. Even if they're online. Stay near people who model self-respect for you. They will help you practice how to treat yourself.

—

#tw body insecurity #tw dysphoria #tw dysmorphia #tw eating disorder #adhd #masking #reflecting as a coping mechanism #trauma #relationships #alterous attraction #questioning aromantic #nonbinary #agender #queer

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intruality-overlord · 4 years

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Why Are We (Best) Friends?

Warnings: excessive swearing, alcoholism, mentions of drugs, drug use, suggestive humor, implied sexual content (no smut), some gore descriptions. Generally, Remus stuff.

Taglist: @blogging-time @veraisnotfine @littlestr @jessibbb @broken-pens @hi-its-tutty @idkanameatall @moxiety--sanders101 @theyluna-womoon

Let me know if you want to be added or removed from the taglist! Updates every Wednesday/Thursday. Get ready for fighting...

Chapter Five: Fuck You

The Present.

“How much do you remember?” Remus nagged the next morning as Patton bustled around his room getting dressed.

“I wasn’t black out drunk!” Patton retaliated, “I remember everything.” Patton wasn’t, and he’ll say it again, not a lightweight. No. Not that the thought offended him in any way shape or form. “I mean, it’s fuzzy, but still,” he mumbled into his shirt as he pulled it off over his head.

“So… Logan knows and now probably the others…” Remus clutched the rumpled bed sheets, his eyes stretched wide to accommodate all his stress. Waiting for the floorboards to open their jaws and swallow him, chew and spit him out again, he stared at it expectantly. He’d rather bleed to death from splintery teeth than deal with this right now, and he wouldn’t have to if he resembled mashed potatoes. This fucking stress. This guilt.

“I’m over thirty years old! It’s normal, having a drink with a friend!” Patton dismissed with a wave of his hand, swatting Remus’s very real, very valid concerns away. Not entirely unusual. That is, if they were talking about something as trivial as why Mother Nature created hyenas the way she did. Poor things, childbirth was already messy enough.

“They shouldn’t be so shocked. Now where’s my—” Patton whisked around the room looking for a change of clothes, and Jesus, he needed to clean his room. He found his one clean polo wedged behind his wardrobe. Remus thought he was entirely too concerned about clothes when everything had been fundamentally fucked up yesterday. Clothes were overrated, anyway.

“Why did you…?” Remus couldn’t help but ask. Trying to make sense of things was a new hobby of his. He was still an amateur. Patton pulled his fresh polo on, and Remus tried to ask again hoping he’d succeed with one less distraction.

“Why did you admit we’re friends to Logan?”

Patton just looked at him like he was crazy. Crazier than he thought. “Because we are? I had just been talking about how I need to stop pretending we're not friends. Do you really think I’d go back on my word so quickly?” He said incredulously. “Hey, I think I left my hoodie under the bed again. Could you pass it?”

Remus did retrieve the garment from beneath the bed, checking there were no cobwebs or spiders on it. Then he held it, frozen. Remus rivalled Virgil when it came to thinking of worst case scenarios, only Remus wasn’t normally scared by them. Now… Remus knew he’d someday ruin everything for Patton. Ruin it like he ruins everything. That’s what happens when you’re the embodiment of bad ideas. It’s not fun anymore when he’s ruining something, someone, he actually cares about.

He just wanted Patton to be happy…

Hands rested on his shoulders, comforting and solid. “Look at me,” Patton hushed. Remus did.

Since when did his eyes twinkle like that?

“I don’t regret it, Remus,” Patton said sternly. “I can’t afford to spend every sober moment regretting everything.” Patton smiled. “I want good memories, however few.” His eyes crinkled in that simple, rare way you’d hope to see well worn into his skin one day. That private smile was for Remus.

Patton gently took the hoodie and wrapped it around his shoulders like a cape. “I’m gonna need some tequila for this.”

Oh god.

(}ï{)

Now how was Patton supposed to break the news? He chickened out at breakfast, and he chickened out at lunch, now it was dinner. There was chicken on the table and no room for more than one. God, it felt like coming out of the closet all over again. Think, what would Remus do?

“I’m not a virgin,” Patton blurted.

Oh yes, very subtle.

Cutlery clattered and clanged combined with collective choked coughing.

That didn’t quite come across how he had wanted it to. Perhaps Patton was drunker than he thought and he didn’t need that extra liquid courage right before dinner after all. He had been aiming for tipsy, like usual, when he had taken a few shots this morning.

(He didn’t know how to get through a whole day entirely sober anymore. Wake up, get dressed, have a couple shots, brush your teeth, have breakfast— it was routine. When sober, he hardly had the energy to maintain his act, but when tipsy, he was just delirious enough for his insanity to come across as jovial joy.

Yes, that did mean Patton was living with a constant hangover.

And no, he could not find the strength to care.)

Perhaps he had overshot it with his nerves making him lose count.

All well, it served the same purpose.

Last time, anyway, Patton had just blurted that he thought guys were attractive, and it turned out fine. (Which went something along the lines of:

“Boys are hot.”

“Duh.”

“They are indeed glorious creatures.”

“I can confirm that that is a factual statement.”)

Why should it work any different this time?

Wait, why is no one saying anything?

Patton looked around at his fellow sides, and they all looked like they saw a creepy crawly death dealer sitting comfortably on his head.

“Did you hear me?”

As their brains caught up, Virgil and Roman both spluttered, “What?!” There was another brief silence before the information caught up to Logan, and he too followed with a small, “What?”

Bewildered, Virgil and Roman’s heads snapped around at Logan. “You mean— you didn’t…?”

“No,” Logan said, eyebrows furrowed. “I thought I dreamt what I saw yesterday,” Logan eventually said. All of the colour was drained from him. “Yeah, I know, so surprising how articulate I can be when I’m drunk,” Patton half joked defensively.

“Do you know what virgin even means, Patton?” Roman asked slowly, hoping this was one of Patton’s hilarious misunderstandings. Patton sighed. “It means someone who hasn’t had sex before. And I have. So I’m not,” he said, beginning to curl in on himself. He felt trapped like an insect enveloped in a water droplet, not strong enough to break the surface tension.

“With you always expecting me to be honest I wouldn’t have thought you’d be so surprised when I actually am,” Patton observed bitterly. Something about the mention of truthfulness struck a nerve in Virgil, resulting in a false epiphany. “Deceit?” Virgil said sceptically. The glare pressing on Patton made him feel like he nearly lost his footing despite not moving an inch.

“Wha— no, I'm not Janus!” Patton said incredulously. “Not that being Janus is a bad thing,” he added under his breath. Patton wouldn’t be offended to be compared to Janus under normal circumstances. However in this situation, he was put off by the negative connotations Virgil was associating with Janus.

“That sounds like something Deceit would say,” Roman mused.

“Oh, you want proof? Fine! Janus!” Patton summoned. A very discombobulated Janus appeared, much to the others’ surprise. “I know exactly what’s going on,” he lied.

“You are Janus, I am Patton, correct?” Patton snapped. “...No?” Janus said, utterly confused. Slightly scared too.

“See?” Patton pleaded. Meanwhile, Janus glanced around at everyone else’s faces screwed up in confusion and some other indecipherable glob of emotions Janus deemed safe to assume as anger. “Jesus, good luck,” he muttered to Patton, and he promptly sank out.

“We just never thought— you always were so pure—”

“Because that’s what was expected from me!” Patton heaved a breath, pushing back his tears. “I committed adultery! There! I said it— and no, I don’t mean adulthood,” he announced. Those words felt like screaming in a claustrophobic space. Stretching, stuffed into a suitcase, and feeling the unforgiving, unrelenting walls. It felt like breathing in the vacuum of space.

“I knew as soon as I broke that perfect, innocent image of me you have, you wouldn’t react well. And guess what? You’re acting exactly like I expected you to!” He screamed. With another sharp, trembly breath, he vented all his frustrations out to people other than Remus for the first time.

He lost it.

“You’ve always treated me like a fucking child even though I’m the oldest. Telling me to shut up and let the adults talk, and this is a grown up conversation, or oh, you wouldn’t get it Patton even. Always sheltering, patronising me as if I’m not over thirty fucking years old,” a lump formed in his throat. “I’m Thomas’s heart. Where do you think his feelings of lust come from?!” Miserable strings of choked back words wound up like a ball of yarn into an incomprehensible howl that tumbled out of Patton.

“When I learnt what repression means, it sounded like something that perhaps wasn’t the best thing for me to keep doing, an-and I thought you’d want me to stop. That you’d be happy for me if I did,” he whimpered.

“W-we did! We are!” Roman quickly jumped in. “It’s just… just not— you… um, listen Padre, uh we,” he faltered. Looking to Logan for guidance, they just found him lost in his head, eyebrows scrunched, grimacing.

“Hold on, if it wasn’t us then it had to have been a dark side,” Virgil finally realised. Roman gasped, and Logan grimaced harder.

“I’m also an alcoholic?” Patton said in an attempt to quickly distract. It distracted them alright, only their reactions were just as bad or worse. It sent them all into a senseless squabble.

“So there was no consent then?” Virgil spoke up, mildly horrified.

What the fuck did he just hear?

Jaw slacked, breath fumbling, all Patton could hear for a moment was his thudding heart before a feeble, “Of course there was,” escaped him. “I can think for myself I-I-I’m not a child I…” And he looked like he'd just been stabbed, they saw. Between his ribs, the knife twisted, locking the blade in and exuding pressure. Because no, they’re not letting his blood spill. Can’t have carpet stains now, can they?

“He must have been manipulating you. Making you valuable with— with drinking and taking advantage of you,” Virgil said, seeming almost concerned for him. “He’s a dark side, he can’t genuinely care about you. It’s the only explanation,” Roman agreed rather bluntly.

His ears must be broken.

Patton’s eyes glistened. “How could you say that?” The watery wimper scraped his throat. “He’s my friend.” Patton wouldn’t let a tear fall; he refused. Only his true friends were allowed to see him that valuable.

“This— this isn’t— please just listen, please! I just wanted to be more honest with you all, an-and I was hoping yo-you’d accept our friendship…” Patton finished lamely.

“He is a dark side, Patton,” they said. “We are your friends,” they said. “We are the ones who really care about you,” they said. Lying was wrong, they had said. Hypocrites.

Mouth helplessly clamped shut, his thoughts ricketed around his skull like a brick in a washing machine. He wouldn’t have had to resort to alcoholism if they hadn’t made him bottle his feelings. Remus would never hurt him, he’s a good friend! Patton has been by his side when Remus was so fucking high, he didn’t even recognise him, and not for one moment did he even consider hurting him in any way! Remus cares. Maybe this whole thing was one big mistake. Patton always belonged with the others, not Virgil. And if Virgil had already made the switch over, then it was his turn. Patton had thought, hey, maybe I’m wrong. They’re my friends; they love me. But he was wrong. Stupid, nieve Patton being wrong, who knew.

Remus wouldn’t treat him like this.

Reverting to his last resort, Patton pleaded, “How can Thomas love himself if he can’t accept himself? If you can’t accept us?”

Completely unmoved, they held up their hands to address him as a scared, dumb animal. Their voice tweaked into a tone used for gently scorning a toddler, “It’s okay, Patton. It’s not your fault he’s manipulated you. We can help. He doesn’t have to use you anymore, we can do this together—”

“F-fuck you. Fuck. You. Bastards.”

As he sunk down, Patton called back one last thing, “By the way, Roman.

I fucked your brother.”

(}ï{)

Why? Why, why, why, why, why— It’s all Logan could think the whole time. It just didn’t compute, no matter how valiantly he tried to understand. Why why why why why?!

Next Chapter:

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atths--twice · 4 years

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Wedding Countdown

Chapter Two

Wednesday, Six Days To Go

Scully, with six days to go, is in search of a dress to wear for the wedding, but is having a hard time finding the perfect one.

(Picture of the dress at the end this time : ) )

11b/15

Scully sat down in the car with a sigh, feeling discouraged. She had been to three shops looking for a dress for the wedding. Not a wedding dress, as she was quick to tell Mulder who only smiled, but a dress for the wedding.

The thought of finding some dress like other women dreamed of, some white flowing, mermaid style, made her eyes roll. Imagining herself in a white dress, which symbolized virginity, meeting Mulder at the end of the aisle, as he held their nearly one year old daughter, made her laugh. Add to that her age, and she felt downright gleeful.

No, a white wedding dress would not do, she simply needed a dress for the wedding.

Every place she looked, the dresses were wrong. Either too much or not enough. They just did not feel right to her. Each one she tried on felt off and something about them just …

She needed something beautiful, functional, and appropriate for her taste and for the church. Something like …

“Oh … oh my …” she breathed and started the car, her heart racing.

______________

Forty five minutes later, after a call to Mulder that she would still be out for a bit, with him happily telling her to take her time, she was standing on the front steps of her mother’s house. Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, she put her key in the lock and opened the door.

Stepping inside, she stood in the entryway, and looked around. The last time she was there had been a few months ago and it was a quick visit. Louise had called to check in on them and asked after her mother's house. What they planned to do with it and how it was being cared for.

“I have a woman who comes to clean my place who is amazing, if you would like to have her number.”

The woman, Ingrid, met with both of them and agreed to clean the house. After she left, Scully and Louise had held to each other and cried as they walked around, looking at the rooms her mother used to inhabit, her presence still lingering in the house.

A plan would need to be made for the house soon, but it filled Scully with sadness at the thought of it. Selling it made her feel they were giving her mother away, and renting it out and letting someone else live there … she could not fathom it. Until then, Ingrid came by once a month, dusted, vacuumed, and cleaned the bathrooms.

Pocketing her keys, she continued on, up the stairs and to her mother’s bedroom door. Opening it, she stepped inside and took a deep breath, her mother’s scent still held within.

“Hey, Mom,” she said quietly, walking further into the room. “It’s been awhile, huh? I was out and about today, trying to find a dress for our wedding, yes you heard that right, our wedding.” She laughed softly and stepped into the large walk-in closet, turning on the light, and sighing. So many clothes hanging in garment bags, she was not sure she would find what she was looking for.

“I was trying to find a dress, like I said, and everything just felt wrong. I can’t describe it, but when I started to think of what I really wanted, I realized where I had seen it. So, here I am, looking for what I would like to wear. I hope it will be okay with you,” she laughed again as she began to look through the clothing. “What am I saying? If you were here, you’d know exactly where it was and hand it to me with a huge smile on your face.” She shook her head and sighed.

“I can’t believe we’re actually doing this to be completely honest. I never saw us as married, not from a legal standpoint anyway. I’ve felt we are without question, but married married, it’s so different. Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely do want to marry him. I would have been happy with a day at the courthouse, but well, you know Mulder,” she laughed again, unzipping a garment bag and not finding what she wanted. She zipped it up again and moved it to the other side of the closet, moving onto the next one.

“We even have a wedding planner, Mom. Okay, stop. I can practically hear you clapping your hands and gasping,” she said, as she rolled her eyes. “He’s actually really great and quite funny. I was expecting a flouncy, over-the-top kind of plan, but what he chose was so … me. Simplistic, yet with an elegance to it. I was attacked on all sides and never stood a chance.” Smiling, she opened another bag and shook her head, not finding it again.

“Faith is going to be celebrating her first birthday soon. Now that I can’t wrap my brain around. It’s unbelievable to think I was pregnant at this time last year, but knowing she’s nearly one, Mom, it’s so strange,” she stopped for a second, her shoulders slumping. “I know I shouldn’t do it, Mom, but I look at her sometimes and think how I missed all the big milestones with William. Crawling, walking, talking, I missed all of that with him.” She sobbed out a gasp and left the closet, needing a minute. Walking into the bathroom, she sat at the vanity and took a deep breath.

“I sat here with you, and you told me I made the right decision in giving him up for adoption. ‘Let the sadness in, and then let it out. You did what you needed to protect him, you, and everyone around you. He is safe because of a sacrifice you made, a painful choice you made. He is safe, Dana.’ That’s what you told me, Mom, and it’s been less sad some days, but then some days when I look at her …” she took a deep shaky breath, tears falling down her face. “I look at her, and I think of all I missed with William. I know he was and is okay, but God …”

She tilted her head back and closed her eyes as the tears fell faster, the thoughts of all she missed, all they missed. The memory of her mother’s arms around her as she sat at this vanity years ago, brought her some comfort. She crossed her arms and placed her hands on her shoulders, as if she could feel the weight of that remembered hug.

“Let the sadness in, and then let it out,” she repeated. “I’m trying, Mom, I really am. So much of the hurt has been filled with happiness and hopefulness, but there are pockets of it that pop up and it takes me down for a bit.” She took another deep breath and opened her eyes. Wiping the tears from her face, she looked in the mirror, picturing her mother’s reflection as she stood behind her. “Thanks for listening, Mom, I love you.” She smiled softly and then stood up, walking back to the closet.

“Okay, Mom, enough sadness. Help me out here, which garment bag is it in?” she asked, clapping her hands together and looking at all the clothes hanging there. “Maybe towards the back?” She took out three of the items and hung them on the rack, facing her so she could open many of them at once. She unzipped the first one, shaking her head and zipping it up again, moving onto the next.

Not finding it in any of the garment bags, she sighed, believing her mother must not have kept it after all. She hung the clothes back up and shook her head, then looked up at the shelves in the closet. Shoeboxes, some hat boxes she knew were full of old photos, and then two larger boxes that could be what she was looking for caught her eye.

Walking back to the vanity, she picked up the chair and brought it into the closet, standing on it to pull the boxes down one by one. They lay on the bed and before she opened them, she closed her eyes briefly, praying they would hold the item she needed.

Opening the first box, she pulled back tissue paper and found her mother’s wedding dress. Smiling, with tears in her eyes, she took it from the box and the clear plastic bag it sat inside. Unzipping the bag, she held it up and looked at the dress her mother had worn so long ago. It was simple, yet elegant, just as her mother was, and had passed onto her family.

A white knee length, high bodice dress, with long lace sleeves. It was beautiful, and she thought of the old pictures, and how her mother looked on the day she promised herself to William Scully for the rest of her life. Touching the dress was like touching a bit of the past and holding it sacred. It was beautiful, but it was not the one she wanted. Putting it back carefully, she closed the lid and looked at the other box.

Lifting the lid and pulling back the tissue paper, she grinned. “There you are,” she said softly, and took the dress from the box. As she did, she could hear the music and laughter of the day her mother wore it...

Celebrating their thirtieth wedding anniversary, her parents had been the stars of the evening. Everyone was there, family and friends filling the booked the reception hall at the hotel where many people were staying. The room was beautifully decorated and the dinner they shared was delicious.

Her mother had been radiant, not only in the dress she wore, but with the glow in her eyes and the flush of her cheeks as she had danced around with her father. Both of them happy and smiling, their eyes only on each other as they danced together.

Scully and Melissa had whispered and laughed as they watched them, poking juvenile fun at the love they saw, though they were both themselves in their twenties. Scully had loved seeing them so happy and even though she laughed with Melissa, she also felt that small twinge of longing to have a love like that in her life.

Scully sighed, looking at the dress her mother wore to that party. She took it from the plastic bag and held it up with a smile. “Yes, this is what I was looking for. It’s exactly what I wanted.” She went into the closet to get a hanger to hang it up and look at it properly.

Opening the curtains in the bedroom, she looked at it, touching the fabric, her mother’s laughter ringing in her ears. It was an exquisite dress. Silvery blue and just past the knee, the bodice had a lace flowery overlay, with nearly wrist length sleeves. The neckline was rounded and met at a zipper in the back. Small pearls were scattered throughout the bodice and added to the beauty of the dress. The skirt was not technically full, but had some twirl to it and Scully remembered the way it had looked when her parents had danced.

She took the dress from the hanger and unzipped it, laying it on the bed. She undressed, slipped off her shoes, and stepped into the dress, zipping it as best she could on her own. It was a little loose on her, but that could be fixed easily. Walking into the bathroom, she looked in the mirror and smiled before her eyes filled with tears.

“It’s perfect,” she whispered, imagining how happy her mother would be to let her borrow this dress, the smile on her face as she handed it over, knowing she would be wearing it to marry Mulder. “It’s truly perfect.” Wiping at her eyes, she smiled again, twirling around and laughing out a sob.

Unzipping and stepping out of it, she packaged it back up, taking care to wrap it as delicately as it had been when she opened the box. She put her clothes back on, put the wedding dress back on the shelf in the closet, and turned out the light. The chair went back to the vanity and the curtains closed, before she picked up the box and looked around the room.

“Thanks, Mom,” she whispered, kissing her fingers and smiling. She walked out the door, closing it behind her, and down the stairs. Locking the front door, she walked to the car and put the dress in the back, patting the box as she did.

She closed the door, got in, and sent Mulder a message that she would be home soon. She had found exactly what she was looking for, and it was perfect.

Wonderful, Scully. Take your time, no rush on our end, came his reply and she smiled.

See you soon. Love you.

Love you too.

She smiled as she drove home and then laughed as it hit her. With this dress, she had covered three quarters of the old rhyme for a bride on her wedding day:

Something old, something new, something borrowed, and something blue.

“Well, I’ll need new shoes, so I guess that will cover it,” she said, and laughed again, sighing at the happiness that took away the recent sadness. “Six more days …”

So, in case anyone reading this also read Soulmates, the dress Scully will wear is the one Maggie imagines herself in when she dies. I love the idea of a dress that Maggie loved so much to be the one Scully will wear when she marries Mulder. A beloved anniversary dress will now be a wedding dress. ❤️👗

#The X Files #XF Fanfic #Post MSIV #Family Life: The Story Beyond the Series #Wedding Countdown #Finding the perfect dress #Memories #Bittersweet memories #Love #Happiness #Soulmates

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eldritchsurveys · 4 years

Text

808.

this is a survey I made in fucking 2013 lmao. god

i. it seems that the average survey-taker is a white american female, aged 15-19, who has a car, a cell phone, and an extensive social circle. is this true for you? >> This is hilarious because I was complaining about this recently. Some things never change, I guess... Anyway, obviously it is not true for me except for the American part (not that it does me any favours). I do have a phone, though. (I didn’t back when I made this survey; couldn’t afford one.)

ii. xanga, unlike a lot of sites, rarely changes its layout. do you like this, or do you think there should be more updates? what do you think they should add (or remove)? >> Well, this question didn’t age well.

iii. have you seen any silent films? >> I haven’t. I’m not sure I’d be able to enjoy a silent film, to be honest. I’ve seen bits of silent films in modern cinema (there was a bit of one in the Watchmen show’s pilot, for example, which is what I’m thinking of right now) and the whole concept just looks obnoxious to follow along with.

iv. would you rather be an actor, director, or soundtrack producer? >> I wouldn’t want to be in show business at all, but I guess if I really had to choose a place to be, I think being involved with the music would be cool.

v. what is your favourite hue of your favourite colour? >> Gold is my favourite colour, which is already a hue, as far as I can gather.

vi. have you seen nbc's 'hannibal'? thoughts? (if you haven't, do you want to?) >> Heh. I’m still pretty obsessed with Hannibal, but it was a lot more fun when it was current and this website was inundated with good content. And memes, can’t forget the hannilols.

vii. on websites where you're permitted to change your username, do you do so often, or do you keep the same one for long periods of time? >> I used to have chronic shapeshifter syndrome on the internet, but I’ve mostly settled down into a few “canon” usernames/handles. It just becomes a lot of work after a while, and I guess it just... stopped feeling so important, to switch things up all the time. Don’t get me wrong, I still have a pretty malleable and mercurial identity, that’s just my nature -- but expressing every facet of that mercuriality on the internet has become less important. (Let’s see if that changes again in the next few years ;) as it goes)

viii. does your computer have a name? what is it? if not, what is your desktop wallpaper? >> Heh, this is definitely a “me” question. The computer I’m on right now is named Dorian Gray, and my gaming rig is named Azathoth.

ix. do you consider yourself an activist, or a supporter of any social-justice causes? why or why not? >> Nope. I don’t know. Maybe I’m just not compassionate enough. Maybe I’ve got some dead brain matter. I don’t know why I don’t have the same passion for activism that a lot of my peers seem to have. I mean, it’s certainly not because I’m particularly privileged (I’m really not) and it’s not because I don’t think my peers have the right of things. I just... don’t have enough emotional investment, I guess. I don’t know, man. But I also don’t have that kind of energy. Protests (most of which end up turning into bad-cop shitshows, apparently) and shit like that aren’t really the best place for my post-traumatic ass, you dig? Anyway, I think about this a lot (especially lately) but I have no clear-cut answers as to why I am not activism-oriented, when I clearly should be.

x. if you are non-religious, do you feel pressured to be religious or do you find that people often try to 'convert' you? if you are religious, how does it make you feel when others speak contemptuously of religious people? >> I don’t feel pressured to be religious, no. Who would even pressure me? Most of the people I know are full-on atheists, or pagans who just do their own weird thing and mind their business. Mostly.

xi. if you are religious, what is your religion and how do you observe it? if you are non-religious, do you find religion an interesting thing to study, anyway? >> I am intensely interested in religion. I find it one of the most interesting things to study, from so many different angles. I just don’t have one of my own.

xii. would you want a personal robot (think 'bicentennial man' or 'a.i.')? what would you name it? what purpose would it serve? >> Heh. Well, I don’t know. I mean, I feel like it would be cool to have an android companion, but it wouldn’t be happening in a vacuum. If, say, America figured out AI and started making AI companions for people, you can pretty much imagine how that would go. Capitalist hellscape plus a terrible culture of human superiority (well, white man superiority, to be specific, but) and a productivity-based mentality? Can we just not create and subject a new kind of lifeform to that, please.

xiii. are you eager to see how far science + technology will advance, or do you prefer an older way of doing things? do you think we are better off with these advancements, or not? >> I used to be really into technological advancement and The Singularity and all of that, which is why this question exists. And I still personally think all that shit is cool as hell. But like I said, none of it happens in a vacuum, and as long as we continue not to improve as organic, social, sapient lifeforms... it really doesn’t matter if cars can drive themselves or whatever. It’s all just part of the hellscape. I love my computers, I love the internet, I love the weird new gadgets I see on Gizmodo and I love space programs. God knows I do. I just... can’t unsee the other stuff.

xiv. what is your favourite comic book or graphic novel? does your favourite novel come in comic-book form? (if not, would you like it to?) >> My favourite comic book (well, comic book series) is probably... Promethea. Or Sandman. Preacher is definitely up there too. I don’t have a favourite novel, but I think Lovecraftian comics are great (Alan Moore did a few that I loved), and the Dark Tower comics were works of art. I wish someone would make Ayn Rand books into comics, I think that’d be funky.

xv. have you ever thought of a question that you'd like to see on a survey, but you couldn't think of enough other questions to put it in a survey yourself? do you remember what the question was? (if you can, feel free to answer it here.) >> I have a post in my drafts that’s just for throwing in questions that I think up, in the hopes that one day I’ll have thrown enough random questions in there to make a whole survey out of. We’ll see, lmao.

#surveys #survey #random survey

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ghostmartyr · 5 years

Text

Avengers: Endgame Thoughts

SPOILERS, obviously.

So I figure I’ll babble enough to keep all the genuinely spoilery content under an appropriately timed cut. Even though everything after this statement is full of expectation spoilers. The few key things that I can think about to mention are that I really appreciated the movie and enjoyed the highs and teared up aplenty.

Also that I think this is going to be a primarily negative post. Whoops.

Not because I think it’s awful. I want to emphasize that I don’t think it is awful, because I am very worried that I’m going to forget to say that.

There’s a base level of quality you can sort of expect from MCU movies, so I don’t generally feel the need to move beyond the role of passive audience member for them. Then Infinity War really impressed me, and I couldn’t wait to see how everything was going to wrap up when they really left the movie there, so my investment level piqued.

As a result, there are more thoughts than usual. About a movie I really did find to be of high quality, and probably would see again happily if planning to sit still for another three hours didn’t make me twitchy.

I liked the movie.

There are just some character decisions and plot mechanics and overall writing decisions that... really?

First thing that I don’t have much to say about but can’t rationalize having a complaint post with no mention of: Thor and Hulk.

People in charge of the movie, you had no problem including Captain Marvel when you had no earthly clue what to actually do with her. Her smile warmed my heart in every scene she graced, and while I was criminally disappointed she was not more involved, none of the material she was given made me feel like the people writing her didn’t care about her.

...

Actually, now that I think about it, this should not have just a Thor and Hulk complaint section. Like that was the idea, because I didn’t have much, because I don’t care (slightly different than the writers’ level of don’t care), but the whole...

...

Oy.

Here, once for flavor, with the knowledge that I’ll get back to it and repeatedly whine about it this whole post.

I find the fucking time skip wanting in too many ways for me to really forgive the film for.

Anyway, Thor and Hulk.

In short, no.

In less short, what are you doing.

Hulk I don’t have a serious gripe with, except my main complaint about Infinity War was how Banner (I should probably change how I name him based on which character I’m talking about, but I really just mean the entity represented by a particular actor so I can’t care that much) got used up as comedy relief. You can have comedic moments and characters. If you have transformed your character into a comedic moment, you’ve fucked up.

(See Thor in too much of this movie.)

But one of the interesting parts of Hulk’s general arc in the MCU was how Banner and Hulk were starting to negotiate for their place in their body.

Cue Endgame, cue time skip, cue completely glossing over how they make their peace with each other.

Avengers franchise, why?

I am not attached to Hulk or Banner or any of that section of the plot, honestly, but the potential of that entire element is shot and left for dead in the water. Then the floating corpse gets up and starts walking around as part of a cog of the story.

Hulk’s most interesting plot point basically happened in another movie that doesn’t now, and probably won’t ever, exist, and considering what Infinity War put the guy through as a character, my writing senses are hurt and sad all over.

Then there’s Thor.

I think he might fit into the whole thing I will soon get into about character resolutions that hit the right emotional keys solidly enough that you forget they’re playing the wrong song.

Mostly he picks up the “hole” (wrongly perceived as something that needs to be filled) left by Hulk leaving the walking gag scene party. Drinking himself into oblivion and disregarding self-care in the aftermath of an immense trauma is one of the film’s chosen humor mainstays.

My impression is that I’m the only person in my tight corner of the internet who doesn’t really like Ragnarok because its silliness felt like it was trying too hard. It’s my favorite of the Thor movies, but a bunch of the humor didn’t feel natural to me. Better than Infinity War’s handling of Hulk, and better than Endgame’s handling of Thor, just not my favorite tone.

Endgame sort of takes that element, jacks it away from its surrounding strengths, and rolls out a keg for it to drown in.

When the movie remembers to empathize with Thor instead of mocking him, there are some great moments. But he draws one of the shortest straws of the movie.

And the character resolution is...

Good fuck this is why I had to say I liked the movie. Because when I actually sit down and think about my problems with it, the rest of my brain just lounges to the side in horror, wondering what could possibly have been entertaining if such elements were included.

The very beginnings of my problems with the movie is that they kill Thanos.

I think he’s dead ten minutes in.

Then they skip five years.

Five years.

Ooooh my everything.

Okay so like, you know how you start reading something, or watching something, and your head immediately takes note that oh, this must be a dream sequence. The couple in a romance is suddenly way too hot and steamy for where the story has them in their development, a random bomb goes off, the guy who destroyed half of all life in the universe because no one can stop him in the last movie is killed in the first ten minutes of the next--

There’s like.

A rhythm. There’s a rhythm to how stories work.

When that rhythm is disrupted, the audience is left with a tangible feeling of wtf. Either that feeling enhances the other quality stuff going on, or it enhances the other Quality stuff going on, if you catch my drift.

You step into a vacuum.

It’s great for recreating that sense of absence. The world is irrevocably changed. It’s emptier. The heroes are broken. Their revenge doesn’t fix anything. They just. continue to exist, with losses they aren’t equipped to handle.

FIVE YEARS OF IT.

I have probably a longer list of things I want stories involving time travel not to do than is perhaps healthy. But maybe stories involving time travel should keep their act together better or I don’t know.

Bad Future ends are not something I appreciate, because often, they go grimdark just because they can, because they know it’s not the final future, so anything goes. You don’t have to treat it like any reality that matters, because it isn’t permanent.

This story... I would say it toes the line there, but in ways that grate on me thoroughly enough that it presses all the same buttons.

Thanos can die in the first ten minutes, and it doesn’t matter. We know it doesn’t matter, because it happens in the first ten minutes. ...Maybe twenty, to be safe. It’s early. But you have this villain who’s built up to a ridiculous degree, bizarrely succeeds in living up to his own hype, then you kill him off so that a younger version of himself gets top billing in the final battle.

Why?

I get why as far as the story is designed, but at some point in the process, this story is designed by humans. Humans who could have stopped and asked themselves if they were really telling the best version of this story they possibly could.

Thanos is defeated while his blight remains. I love saying that. I love that I can describe a story with those words.

But the initial defeat is so unsatisfying and bereft of life. All the energy of him as an external force for our heroes to unite against is bled out early, and to get it back, they really do just ship in a younger model.

Which does make sense. Younger Thanos’ motives are fine and reasonable. Just, as far as the plot design, the whole presentation of the movie’s setting feels like a dream sequence. It feels, very early on, like this will never be allowed to be forever.

Then that feeling lasts for five years.

Getting into the time travel thing.

Time travel is really hard to get right in stories. You want to change something, but the people doing the changing are products of what they’ve lived through. How do you honor that while still fixing the unspeakable evil that happened? How do you change the world while keeping the threads that made us care alive and relevant?

One thing I very much like is that Tony fights to keep what he’s gained alive. Good. The volcanic soil grew him something irreplaceable, and it’s perfectly reasonable for him to want to hold on to that, and I’m glad he does.

But then you have the other half of the story, where no one is able to move on.

My preference for time travel correcting things is for characters to either be trying to change their own future that they have yet to live through, or for them to trying to fix something that is so recent the characters are still wrangling with it as a piece of their present. I have more than a touch of “humans should not mess with these things they don’t know what they’re doing,” past a certain point.

In case it weren’t obvious, five years is pretty far past that point for me. It hits this awful uncanny valley sweet spot of people wanting to change a reality that never should have been vs. people who are willing to fuck up the world because they can’t let go.

I like superheros. I like correcting injustices. Save all the people. I like people fighting tooth and nail to fix things set in stone because these are their people, dammit.

I also hate seeing people so stuck in the past they refuse to make a future.

This movie screams both of those elements so loudly that it’s hard for me to really piece out how I feel about the story in its entirety.

I like that they don’t simply hit an undo button, and do bring everyone back in a way that lets the future that has already happened continue.

But then there’s Steve and Nat and just... fuck, dude.

Gun to my head, I’m a happy person. If everyone could be alive at the end, that would be my preference, I don’t care if it’s cheesy. But you have the choice between Hawkeye and Black Widow. The man who’s lost his family, and the woman who’s lost purpose.

Or something. I don’t do MCU meta.

The sense I get from watching is that Natasha feels like her life works better as a sacrifice. If they succeed, she doesn’t have children and a wife waiting at home. So clearly it makes sense for her to be the one to die. Her road ends to bring back the happiness of others.

Which...

I don’t know how to articulate my problem with this without moving on to Steve first.

So let’s do that.

Steve.

Steve, whose story ends with him going back in time and staying there.

Forget about how the story criticizes every movie that does time travel better than it. Forget about all the levels of not caring went into designing the time travel elements. If possible.

I do not like how Steve’s story is essentially about how there’s only one time and place for him to experience a fulfilling life.

It is the nature of writing stories that we want to encapsulate things. The perfect moment. The perfect set of emotions. The perfect time. Everything falls into place, and that’s how we want it. We’ll never get it better than that. Keep retreading that dead horse, because it was so good.

Steve and Peggy are beautiful together.

What I hate about them ending up together is that... there’s this obvious, painful belief that the world of the future doesn’t have anything left for Steve. Bucky’s there. Sam’s there. Billions of people have just found there way back. Steve’s lived in this century for years.

Reclaiming the past is more important than building a future.

Even though the story’s driving plot is about keeping their past maintained so they can have this future. Or something.

Steve doesn’t have a future. Natasha doesn’t have a future. So the story removes them from it, and calls that a clean, happy (if bittersweet) ending. They’re pieces that don’t work in this world. Their chances are gone. They can live in the past or die.

I hate that. I’m a sap who will read a million stories about someone having a single true love they can’t be without and no one else could ever compare and blah and blah and blah, but that somehow feels different from watching a character’s life play out for years, and seeing them come to the conclusion that they can never belong in this place.

Building a new home never compared to the old one.

That’s depressing as fuck.

Thor gets a piece of this as well, becoming more of a knight errant than a king. After going to so much trouble to become his people’s king and just. Geez.

I don’t think that this is a thing the movie as a whole is really trying to encourage. I think the people working on it just had different visions for what would be cool as a sendoff and so on. Tony’s insistence that they don’t undo the five years they’ve had, and Nebula’s... everything--those aren’t elements of a story that says you can’t grow and find a new place. You don’t have to keep on repeating what you know and nothing else. You really don’t.

But that feels very twisted around for some of these characters’ personal journeys, and as happy as I am for Steve getting his dance with Peggy, the idea that this is a person whose true happiness could never be in the future...

That lingers in a way that I can’t like, and colors a lot of the other resolutions.

I really enjoyed the movie?

Yay?

Even though no one cared even a little at all even once except to attempt to drag other movies about time travel.

This movie’s time travel mechanics are terrible.

They’re just bad.

When you drop the titles of that many other things that have time travel.

And say this isn’t like that.

You should. you should hope. that your thing could at least make a convincing case for making more sense.

This does not succeed in that.

How could you watch enough of those movies to know they had time travel, yet fail to learn anything about how to write time travel. How. Why did you. why. Dragon Ball Z has more internally consistent time travel.

Three hours well spent. The hours on this, maybe less well.

#Avengers #Avengers Endgame #endgame spoilers #spoilers #tl;dr

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avpdpunpun · 5 years

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i disappeared for 3/4ths a year here’s an update?

its been 4 months since my queue ran out and way longer since i wrote an actual post. 8 months about? i think i last posted when i impulse quit a job that was bad for my mental health and just kept getting worse.

sometimes i wonder when ppl who blog about mental illness disappear if they’ve died. there was a big user i used to follow who did, and i still occasionally think about it sometimes, so i figure its nice to post updates sometimes. and being able to look back on posts ive written and reflect on them/what state of mind i was in can be helpful even if it can be embarrassing/dangerous because its so easy to fall back into those thinking habits

after quitting my job i did basically nothing for 6 months haha. at some point i managed to clean out my room which i had done the bare minimum on for years because of depression, took out more built up trash than i thought was possible to fit into my small space. its disgusting but the only thing i struggle to keep up with now at least is vacuuming and putting clothes away so my space is a lot cleaner and it makes me happier. your living space can really have an effect on your mood bless you marie kondo

after my post about having an anxiety attack taking my test i got my drivers license in march. i saw the same lady again after going somewhere else and i think she just let me pass because she felt bad haha. i never finished drivers ed and i still get anxiety about driving unfamiliar routes but my skills and confidence have improved a lot. i managed to drive 2 hours to a big city to visit a friend! i literally didnt have a choice in getting my license, but its still something i can be proud of. like, when i have to explain it to people, it feels extremely shitty that i didnt get it until i was 20, and only about 5 months ago too but... for someone who struggles as much as me, i have to be proud of it my small accomplishments or i’ll have nothing.

at some point something in my brain just snapped and i literally havent been able to cry? for a long time in those 6 months i felt like i was right on the edge of breaking down mentally but never actually crossing that line and it was honestly one of the weirdest things ive experienced. i almost wanted to have a breakdown again just to get rid of the feeling and reach a catharsis like... i used to be a fucking crybaby almost but i. cant. anymore. but i think ive mostly moved away from this point... still feel kinda weird tho.

i didnt end up signing up to a local school fo gen eds. its still on my mind for the vague future because there’s topics i want to learn about (psychology, natural resources, languages...) and maybe try to pursue for a career but really i just wanted a way to get out of my toxic house, even if it meant going into debt to live in a shitty dorm.

in the last 30 days though life has been moving extremely quickly for me. i dont think i couldve lived with myself much longer being a useless adult basically living in my basement bedroom of my parents house, especially with my younger siblings getting nearer to adult milestones, plus my savings were starting to run out.

so literally next weekend, i’m moving out! and i make enough money right now that with the rough budget i have established, if its accurate, i’ll have a decent amount of wiggle room and hopefully wont be ruining my mental health just trying to make ends meet.

it took a long time of searching but i managed to find a job that hasnt made me suicidal and has slightly more than the MIT living wage for my area lol. im a janitor now! we’ll see how long it lasts but a lot of the factors from my last two jobs that contributed to my failing mental health are gone. i rarely have to interact with other people, and if i do its my coworkers, of who i tend to only see for minutes per day, or the other people working in the building i clean who at most i have to say hi and have a nice night to lol. i get to listen to music and podcasts for 8 hours and its very routine heavy. i have to clock out after the 8 hours is up so i literally cant be forced into overtime. a lot of people dont respect cleaning jobs like this but honestly who gives a fuck, its something i can handle mentally and support myself with. its still hard adjusting to 40 hours. i know its the standard, but the standard is rly tough for me, but i think i can do it long term.

all of this has been achieved through sheer self hatred and impulse alone, and im very nervous about moving in with 3 other people even if 1 of them ive known for 8 years, and i dont think its even properly hit me yet. literally cant register that i have to fend 100% for myself but also ill be away from my toxic family! i can bring my cat with me, who before this i got to see at MOST once a week!

a dude ive known online for two or more years is moving to my area too for college and he’s so sweet and kind, i feel better talking to him than i have 99% of people in my life and im so lucky to know him. ive been forced to talk about personal things i was kind of dreading (not his fault, just a result of our relationship going to go from online -> irl and things id have to address beforehand) and honestly i didnt even mind it that much when i just got it over with and talked about it to him! vulnerability is literally the thing i struggle with the most in interpersonal relationships and is a huge block for me in every way and in even the most mundane life situations but like... he’s honestly the best and im getting emotional writing this and its weird af because i straight up dont GET emotional about other people. ive absolutely developed a stupid fucking crush on him recently and i THINK hes been receptive to flirting and i cant tell if he flirts back because we already say i love you and are wholesome af but honestly no clue if he’s into (trans) dudes but honestly? even if it doesnt work out im so happy to be friends with him and im so excited to finally meet him!! i really think knowing him has helped me improve myself

i’ve always thought that if i could literally just achieve the bare minimum in life that things would naturally get better. like i’m still mentally ill and get paranoid about peoples intentions and i think if my boss yelled at me id have an anxiety attack on the spot. im still depressed and hate that i have low energy and that it’s still rly hard doing basic chores.

but like a huge part of my problem was that i felt like i literally couldn’t TRY to connect with people if i couldn’t face having to tell them bare info about myself, like “oh i cant drive” or “i dont have a job” or that i was living with my parents but not even making PROGRESS on getting out. like how could i make friends or go on dates if i literally couldnt contribute shit or admit these things i was so ashamed of? a lot of my self image was shaped by this because my entire life i havent been mentally well enough to do as well as i should have.

but like. i feel like im finally doing these basic things!! i dont have to hate myself so much anymore! i dont look badly on other mentally ill ppl who are less lucky than i/havent been able to do those things yet/might not ever and are still in the same situation i was 2 months ago but the self hatred is strong pls understand.

i dont know yet if i could afford twice yearly drs visits for meds or anything and probably not therapy. i dont even know what my insurance is yet haha. but i’ll see

i need to figure out at what point in my life im going to be able to never contact a single person in my family ever again, considering i’ll be a 20 min drive away and they will know the precise location of where i live, and if i’ll ever feel safe enough in society to start hrt but :^) you know :^) i can at least present more masculinely in the meantime!

i dont rly know how to conclude this... i’m not trying to brag either im just very nervous and excited about where my life might be going for the first time ever? maybe? in my entire life? i have no clue what to pursue after moving out, but i can figure it out. and just... that there’s hope even if youre as fucked up and mentally ill as i am lmao!

#text #update #mostly tagging this for myself to read later if i ever start blogging frequently again

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jefferyryanlong · 4 years

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Fresh Listen - The Squids, The Squids (Bankshots Music, Inc. and Oto-Songs, Inc., 1981) and Duganopacalypse Now (A Fan Compilation, circa 1981)

(Some pieces of recorded music operate more like organisms than records. They live, they breathe, they reproduce. Fresh Listen is a periodic review of recently and not-so-recently released albums that crawl among us like radioactive spiders, gifting us with superpowers from their stingers.)

The first band I ever loved was the Beatles, and John Lennon was dead years before I had any idea of who they were. It wasn’t until Kurt Cobain died that I had any interest in Nirvana--I recall an eighth grade classmate looking at mw with contempt after I told them I was unfamiliar with their music, when “Smells Like Teen Spirit” was already an MTV hit. The chemical composition of my brain was dissolved and reconstituted over the course of two weeks when, at twelve years old, I watched One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest and Cool Hand Luke on late-night television, but both films were about twenty years old by then. I just heard of Herbie Hancock’s V.S.O.P. album, featuring Freddie Hubbard, Wayne Shorter, Ron Carter, and Tony Williams, about two weeks ago. I’m 42 years old now and I’ve only just come to realize how cutting and prescient Claude McKay’s novel Banjo is.

All this to say that I wish I’d been around when Honolulu’s The Squids were playing around town. (Much thanks to Roger and Leimomi from Aloha Got Soul for pointing me in the right direction.) The Squids were so odd and varied, a New Wave outfit with the muscularity and venom of the truest punk rock, able to invoke the B-52′s in the same gig as Talking Heads or the Ventures or the Specials, all with the same veracity, but much weirder and crueler. They married a sunny, breezy synth sound with an aesthetic that I can only describe as joyously psychopathic, spraying smart-ass malice on the unfortunate subjects of their songs.

Though the band only officially released a 7-inch EP in 1981 (currently unavailable on Amazon) Comrade Motopu, the mysterious archivist who, through digitized vinyl and cassette tapes, as well as donated photos, scanned liner notes, flyers and news releases, has painstakingly agglomerated Hawai‘i rock music and associated miscellany on a magnificent pre-Y2K looking website, has not only shared the Squids’ EP (featuring “Tourist Riot,” “‘Love Theme’ From Surfer Boy,” “In,” and “Rio”), but what is also listed as Duganopacalypse, a fan compilation with even more twisted tunes: “Medicine,” “Sexy,” “Head in the Sand,” the ska-soaked “New Girl in Town,” their partially awful, mostly spectacular “Cool Clear Water,” and “Pretty Vacant (with Dugan),” the Never Mind the Bullocks classic with a seemingly hated fan on the inarticulate vocals. I only pray that Comrade Motopu continues documenting this underhand era of Pacific rock music of the late Seventies to early Nineties--the site is a treasure, and more words about the bands highlighted on comrademotopu.com (the Vacuum and Yahweh’s Mistake, for instance) will be coming soon.

The Squids began as a concept by guitarist Beano Shots in 1979, later to take shape as a full-fledged human/cephalopod music group with members Kit and Gerry Ebersbach, Dave Trubitt, and Frank Orall. Those of us who sweatily flailed our way through a booze-and-drug bender on the strobe-lit (at least, as it appeared then) dance floor of the Wave Waikiki between the hours of 2 AM and 4 AM when all the other bars closed down would be surprised to learn that the now-demolished former nightclub, a hub for the scraped-out, after-hours husks operated by the residual combustion of chemicals in their blacked-out reptilian brains, once hosted the edgy Squids as the house band, presumably when the going-out crowd still had an affinity for fun, strong music, and did not simply seek to propel themselves upon the the mechanized beats and soulless zombie tracks initiated by a faceless button masher, in hopes that they would be manipulated, by the end of the night, into some loveless fuck with a nobody.

Of the Squids’ stage show, we have but one recorded example of the band live in concert: a faithful interpretation of the Sex Pistols’ “Pretty Vacant,” in which the players serve as back-up band for a loyal heckler known only as “Dugan.” Having taken (jokingly) enough shit from Dugan, the band harasses him into sing-shouting the song. The performance captures the “fuck you” sentiment of “Pretty Vacant” with a primitive abandon that almost makes the original seem like a Monkees’ tune. It also portrays a punk rock scene less enlightened to the diverse lifestyles it later engendered, when “dick sucking” was applied exclusively as a pejorative.

The same pissed-off adrenalin leads off the the 1981 EP in “Tourist Riot,” an apocalyptic narrative of that species of traveler compelled to hammer a new experience into a predetermined mold that will establish an appropriate backdrop to their social media posts. The tourists here burn hotels and smash out windows when their expectations aren’t suitably met--a bad vacation in which they are pushed around and mistreated leads the tourists to murder and mayhem.

“Tourist Riot” lays out the Squids’ music aspirations right away, especially in the interplay between Beano Shots’s electric guitar and Kit Ebersbach’s keyboards, which morph from forbidding electronic warning tones to psychedelic ghost notes to the replicated sirens of a city on fire, collateral damage in a war between locals and tourists. Following a surprisingly effective bridge that concludes with a shouted “Fuck it, I’m going to New York City!” is an atonal guitar solo reminiscent of Nels Cline asleep at the wheel, redeemed by a more fluid keyboard exploration.

When Jimi Hendrix claimed that “you’ll never hear surf music again” in 1967, he was, through the example of his own transcendent playing on “Third Stone from the Sun,” burying the corpse of that elementary, improvisationally unimaginative rock instrumental with the axe with which he had slew it. To that end, after hearing Jimi Hendrix and all the musical manifestations that took shape from his cosmic residue, it is sometimes hard to take surf music seriously. “‘ Love Theme’ from Surf Boy” comes across as the Squids’ winking parody of the genre, with its reverb, its whammy, its overall melancholy, and its simplicity. That said, there is some sophistication in the song’s structure, as if the wordless tune was more an exercise in technique, an attempt to take stock creatively before reaching out to a farther and stranger place.

On “In,” the guitars and keyboards snarl rabidly toward the same explosive destination, barely kept in check by the talents of the players. Lyrically minimalist, the song’s non-sequiturs slice through the instruments like assembled cut-up style by William S. Burroughs. “Are you losing sense of humor, could be Jesus was only kidding” followed by “are you losing sense of humor, could be Jesus was just a salesman.” These pieces of thoughts unfinished resonate in my head like something close to catchy--to what end, I don’t know. Where the keyboards overmatched the guitars on “Tourist Riot,” on “In” the guitar is locked in and dirty, climaxing in repetitive harmony between the instruments to close out the song.

When I first read the track listing to the 1981 EP, I thought the final song “Rio” would be a rough rendering of the hit video single by near-contemporaries Duran Duran (whose synth-guitar arrangements, though undoubtedly smoother, find relation in the Squids’ overall aesthetic). Instead, “Rio” is an acid commentary on the American Capitalist, represented as a white suit soaked in sweat, and his compulsion to foster vice and iniquity to exotic locales.

I’m not sure whether the fan compilation Duganopacalypse, also available for listening through the Comrade Motopu website, was recorded before, after, or during the sessions of the 1981 EP. A few tracks lead me to believe that the songwriting and arrangements are from a wiser, more sophisticated band, while other songs seem so apelike in their imitations as to come through as pointless satires, or maybe the explorations of a band trying to find its identity.

In “Medicine,” for instance, the Squids operate under an overpowering B-52′s filter that washes out their uniqueness. Whereas on previous tracks this influence existed only at the fringes of their sound, the singer on “Medicine” channels Fred Schneider on the verse and switches to David Bowie during the bridge. The role-play, though, doesn’t kill the the more interesting aspects of “Medicine”--its guitar lick is inventive and so wormy as to be slightly irritating, and the song’s themes, that one must willingly imbibe “the medicine” to accept the hypocrisies of this “downer world,” resound strongly to anyone who casts their eyes around a crowded room.

Where the B-52′s references go deep in “Medicine,” Talking Heads emerge in “Sexy,” from David Byrne’s vocal tics to the subtle and swampy “Take Me to the River” vibe. It goes beyond straight homage to cover band territory, but it does emphasize the band’s technical ability to lock into a groove. “New Girl in Town” is a heaping serving of not-completely-warmed-up ska leftovers, a bit misogynist (of its time, but still). “Head in the Sand,” regrettably, could have been the Squids’ crossover pop hit. I say “regrettably” because, even though the song has a point--that the ability of humans to maintain a semblance of happiness is to carefully cultivate the warm fuzz of obliviousness, sacrificing will to fate in the belief that nothing we could do to change anything would matter anyway--the effort seems more calculated than organic, a plastic approximation of the closest this band, given their specific set of skills, could get to a pop crossover hit. The work put into it seems to drain away at some of the dirty magic. It‘s self-conscious in a way that the other songs aren’t.

Finally we have “Cool Clear Water,” what would have been the band’s masterpiece if they’d spent a little more time recording a decent take (the version on the Duganopacalypse almost sounds live, though it could have been laid down in a rehearsal space). This is not the country classic performed by Marty Robbins and Johnny Cash. The Squids’ “Cool Clear Water” is the frightening confession of a soldier recently returned from the war in Vietnam, directed by an angel spirit to mass murder with a shotgun from a tower in town. When the killer is set to be executed, the angel spirit comforts him, tells him his spirit will be redeemed in heaven for “setting the people free.” The unnerving subject matter of “Cool Clear Water” is given sinister shape by the relentless horror-notes of Kit Ebersbach’s organ, the guitar holding down the song’s march toward inevitable nothingness because the bass (normally played with elan by Gerry Ebersbach) is a complete mess (I’m not sure if she hadn't learned the song or if she just showed up at the gig drunk).

As Marc Maron frequently says on his podcast, “there’s no late to the party” anymore, given the the amount of content available to all of us via the digital consciousness that we are now more plugged into than not. But I’ve waited all my life to lose myself in something vital, of the moment, with my eyes and ears and heart present while the thing is taking shape, at its most temporal. I feel that way listening to the Squids. I wish I could have seen them at one of their Wave gigs. I wish I could have had a beer with them afterward, and gushed in the embarrassing way I do about things I love.

#freshlisten #thesquids #honolulu #1981ep

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ill-skillsgard · 5 years

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Dirty Demons, Part 2 - Axel Cluney/Zeitgeist

Title: Dirty Demons

Description: It's nice to have a companion on the road to total self-destruction - a continuation of Sweet Demons

Warning: 18+ for sex/language/violence/drugs/kinks of all sorts etc.

A/N: Fun Fact: This part has one of my favourite smut scenes in it that I have ever written, for some reason.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

A wicked sense of déjà vu hit me hard when I sat across the table from Axel at a breakfast grill a few miles down the road from the Four's clubhouse. I sipped my black coffee out of a white china mug and watched him cut through a stack of maple syrup-doused pancakes using a fork of questionable cleanliness. He had complained to the server about the table syrup and had her bring him a dozen packets of what he dubbed "the only real syrup. None of that twenty-five percent less sugar bullshit." His green eyes flitted about as he chewed and avoided my stare. It had been a long two years since the weekend we met but when I sat back and sighed I felt like no time had passed at all. He looked the same, sounded the same, carried himself the same and even smelled the same though he insisted nothing about him was the same as I remembered. I ate a bowl of fruit and the orange slice that had come on Axel's plate as garnish. He tossed it into my bowl, complaining that citrus gave him heartburn. It had been a long time since I had had anything to eat that wasn't deep-fried or came frozen in a vacuum-sealed package. I picked away at my strawberries, melon, and bananas while he scarfed down his pancakes. The tinkling of cutlery and plates filled the atmosphere but not the tension that sat like its own entity on our table, grinning at us, forcing our heads together encouragingly. An hour prior he had been calling me 'mommy' and begging me to make him come. Now we were sitting adjacent to each other with nothing to say. There was much I wanted to discuss with him. So many questions burned inside my chest begging for answers. I didn't want to seem pushy but then again, he had this hold on my curiosity and I figured since he had bailed on me without a shred of an explanation that I had some sort of entitlement to answers. After all, he had tracked me down voluntarily which was a pledge to his devotion. It made me hate myself to inwardly admit that I missed him. I missed the hell out of him. When I sat there across from him and watched his mouth move or his eyes wander I couldn't help myself. I wanted him. I had spent nights by myself in recollection of how he had come into my life like a storm on a motorbike and shook me down for sex, destroyed the driveway and caused a rift in what would have been another normal, drunken Friday the Thirteenth. How could I possibly forget someone as chaotic as Axel Cluney? Even then in the restaurant, people stared at him with curiosity. He was equal parts eye-catching as he was menacing. He was suave and liquidy and partial to clothes that had seen as many years on the road as he had. A rockstar with no band. His instrument was his bike and he played it well. "Are we really just going to sit here in silence?" I asked, pulling his attention from his plate to my face. "Are you really only going to eat a fucking fruit salad? You're going to need to keep your strength up if you're going to ride with me, baby girl. And I mean that in more ways than one." I popped a red grape into my mouth and scoffed at the same time, "I see that you're still rude as fuck." "Yeah, I know. But so are you. Look at you, all squirmy in your seat. Bet I can tell you exactly what you're thinking right now. That's how fucking in tune with your body and mind I am," he pointed two fingers at his right temple like a gun. "Try me." "Well, right now you're remembering how good I fucked you earlier because you can still feel it. You're also dying to ask me to explain everything to you, isn't that right? You want to know so badly, don't you? It's eating you alive. I can see it. Your eyes don't lie well to me." I shrugged to stave off his suspicion that I was anything but indifferent to the history of the two years spent apart. Inside I cursed because he was right. "Of course, I'm curious. You told me you would come back and it took you two years to make good on your promise. Do you know how much shit can happen in two years? What if I had gotten married and had forgotten all about you?" Then it was Axel's turn to scoff at me, "you wouldn't. You would never." "You don't actually know me that well," I casually reminded him. "The only person that you could possibly picture yourself getting married to is sitting right across from you now. You wouldn't have married anyone... not without tracking me down first," Axel claimed. I blinked at him in awe for a moment as he pushed around the last scraps of his food through a pool of syrup still left on his plate before opening his mouth and shoveling it in. He leaned over the table and laughed at me, looking cheeky with his eyes squinted as he chewed and nudged my boot with the toe of his own underneath the table. "You're fucked," I snickered. Axel wiped his mouth with a white paper napkin, crumpled it and tossed it onto his sticky plate, pushed the dish aside and leaned back with hands clasped behind his head. He was positively pleased with himself and it dawned on me that he could have been the most arrogant son-of-a-bitch I had ever met in my life. "You gonna eat your cantaloupe?" He asked. "No." "Good. Let's pay and get the fuck out of here then." Axel wrapped his arm around me as we walked from the restaurant with full stomachs and smiles that were hard to hide. When he let me go and circled around his bike I had to have a better look at him and all of his leg, tattooed arms, slicked back hair and the shadow of a black eye that stayed as a reminder to others that he wasn't a man that cruised through life easily. He was so far from normal it almost felt like I was walking through a thick film into a world from a dream I had long forgotten. A dream I had given up on. During the ride back to the clubhouse I had time to think about what Axel said about me never being able to be with anyone but him and as much as it knifed me in the side to admit it, I knew he was right. There was nobody else but him. He rode up beside me on the road, nodded and sped up to pass. I watched the back of his bike through my visor and smirked as he sped up, taking advantage of the sprawling empty pavement. When we pulled up we drew the attention of a few men that were posted up around their bikes in a front lot of the clubhouse. Apparently whatever they had been talking about wasn't as important as them getting a good look at us. Axel chugged in before me, doing the stupid thing and roaring up right beside the group that had their eyes on us. I didn't recognize any of them but they had D4T patches which told me that they would be friendly once they found out who I was. I swung in beside Axel and by the time I turned off the engine and dismounted Axel was already approached. "Real fruity looking chopper you got there," one of the men said to Axel. I tore off my helmet and jogged over to intercept the conversation, "hey Axe, let's just go find Roy so we can get out of here, yeah?" "What's a little kitten like yourself trying to find the boss so quickly for? Don't you know there are a couple of levels to get through first?" A man with one broken front tooth and a head full of greasy salt and pepper hair asked me. "Read the fucking patches, dipshit," was the first thing out of Axel's mouth. "You're talking to the new owner of Motorcity." "Oh yeah? Is that so? Well, then who the fuck are you because you certainly don't look like anybody I've ever heard of." "He's with me," I declared though it didn't seem to make a difference to any of them, especially not Axel. "You not so good at reading, mister? I said read the patches," Axel sneered. "Zeitgeist. Yeah! What the fuck's a Zeitgeist, huh?" "Oh! I have heard of you! You're the fucking freak deserter from the Sweets, ain'tcha?" "I didn't desert shit." "Yeah, yeah, yeah! You did! I remember Calvin talking about some faggot on a green bike that supposedly swallows acid and spits it back up. Made a big fucking mess of some guy's face down in Florida and went nomad on the Sweets. By the rules, you're lucky I'm not unloading a clip into your deserter fuckin' brain right now!" My eyes must have gone wide enough to cut through the clambering hostility of the situation. I watched as hands reached behind backs to be ready at the trigger and felt my stomach twist with dread. If what they said about Axel being a deserter was true then by the rules any patched member of an affiliated charter was obligated to detain him or shoot and ask questions later. "Everyone just calm the fuck down, right now! I'll decide what happens to him! Do you even know who my father is?" "You mean was. Last I heard Al was dead and there's been a spat about the rightful heir. That don't make you no president though, sweetie. Hate to burst your sexy little bubble but the only person that has a say over this piece of shit acid-eating freak motherfucker is Max Sweet." "You're a fucking idiot, Max Sweet is practically my brother! Where the fuck do you think we're going? I'm bringing him back to Motorcity." "You trying to make me believe that a little girl like yourself is escorting this giant, wall-eyed fruitcake all the way across the country? Do you think I'm stupid? He could turn around and beat your ass and leave you on the side of the road to die. Now, now honey, you leave the escortin' to the boys with the guns." Axel clenched his fists not because he was going to swing but because he knew that if he made one move towards them there would be three gun barrels pointed at him. I had to do something quickly or else Axel could have been executed right in front of me without a moment of hesitation. The only violence I had ever witnessed was back home and it was usually drunken fights on the Thirteenth but I had never witnessed a gun actually being drawn. "I want a parlay right now with your president! RIGHT NOW! You can call Max Sweet and he'll tell you to back off and let me take my deserter back to our own charter!" The three men stared at me and for a moment I half expected them all to burst out laughing at me trying to pull a rank card and the tension grew thick enough to make me start sweating beneath my leather. Of course, I was lying. Max Sweet had no idea where I was and according to the new revelations, he didn't know where Axel was either. They could have easily called me on my bluff but I felt the deflation take hold and they began to realize that there was the potential for a war to start if any of them harmed us. "Yeah, that's right. I'm here to talk to Roy! Like I fucking said! Axel! Let's go, now!" I yelled. Axel beamed at me and hopped to my command almost instantly. The rest of them gawked and gaped but I wasn't finished. With a brand new sense of courage, I strolled up to the asshole with the greasy hair and the Captain Hook nose and pointed my finger in his face. "If you ever call me sweetie or talk to any fucking woman like that and I find out about it, I'll have your fucking balls and that's a damn promise. You think you knew Al and how he rolled? Well, I'm ten times fucking worse." Crunching the gravel down with my boot as I spun around, I walked towards the front doors of the clubhouse with Axel quick to follow. When we were far enough away he scoffed at me and nudged me with his elbow. "Holy fuck, mama. That was a boss fucking move! That was so hot, holy shit." "How about you shut the fuck up too, deserter." I snapped at him as I pulled open the door and entered without so much as glancing at him. If Axel really was a deserter than this all had the potential to become extremely volatile. I was in danger just by being around him if what they said were true. I had to get the information I needed from Roy and then bolt the hell out of there before any bad word got around that I was pretending to be part of the Sweet Demons. In reality, I had nothing to do with the actual club and was more of a legal landlord to the property that housed the original clubhouse. These days it had become more of a landmark or tourist attraction and much less of a place where any club business went down. I had made sure of that. Roy was in the club meeting room at the head of the table on a cellphone that looked comically tiny in his massive mitt of a hand. He motioned for me to wait as he ended his phone call gruffly. In front of him were three other cell phones of varying levels of archaism. They must have been burner phones because I hadn't witnessed anyone voluntarily using a flip phone in over a decade. "Angel! Good morning. Who's this that you've got with you?" "My... Boyfriend. Listen, Roy, I'm really in a rush to get moving. Please tell me you found something for me. Anything." Roy sighed and shook his big tattooed head, running his animal balloon fingers over the skin and then down the front of his beard. "Kid, it's hard to say. Your ma pretty much ghosted everybody. All I could find out is that she had been in a trailer park in Mumby. Whether she was stopping in or living there is another guess. One of my guys says he was up there at Lovesick Park for some party and recognized her from back in the day at the rallies. He didn't say much to her though and took off the next day." "Where the fuck is Mumby?" I asked. "Way the hell up North. You're talking sixteen hours and across the border." Usually, the idea of riding another day exactly the way I had come from would drive me to the brink of tears but I looked over at Axel and saw the perfect riding partner. We hadn't even left and I already started enjoying the thought of getting on our bikes and ripping off together. Even though he had a lot of explaining to do, for some reason I was looking forward to the argument. "Roy... Thank you. Honestly. I'm so glad I came to you. And thanks for everything. You've been a huge help." "You're welcome to stay another night if you want to. It's nothin' to me." "No. I can't. Thank you though. I really appreciate everything. You've done more than enough for me... More than you needed to." He nodded and the lines in his boxing glove face wrinkled up as he smiled. "Anything for Al. That man changed the game." Axel followed me out of the meeting room once my business with Roy was concluded and upstairs so I could shove all of my things back into my knapsack. I wanted to get out of there as soon as possible. The risk of one of those guys deciding to follow up on my bluff was so high I was tasting copper at the back of my throat. "Angel... Slow down. Can we like... Talk for a second?" Axel pulled at my elbow. "Oh, so now you want to talk, do you? Now that your element of surprise was blasted wide open and you no longer have a piece of juicy meat to dangle in front of me? Yeah. You're a deserter and I could get my ass killed for defending you!" "I'm not a fucking deserter! I swear to God. Max knows!" "Knows what? Knows that you abandoned your charter after something happened in Florida? Were you going to tell me that? Or were you going to keep your dirty secrets all to yourself and dole them out like little fucking dog treats to me? Fuck you, Axel. If you're going to ride with me you better fucking tell me everything!" "I will! I am! I was... Fuck! I was obviously going to tell you. I didn't expect the three fucking homophobes outside to call me out in the fucking parking lot!" Wrenching open the drawer I had dumped my clothes into, I tossed him a glare and began hauling out everything by the fistful, shoving it all haphazardly into my bag. Once I had all of my effects in order, I slung the bag onto my shoulder and came up in front of Axel who had been standing at the door watching me with panic heavy in his eyes. "Hey! Hey... Listen to me," his voice softened and he reached out to touch my face but I dodged him. He didn't much like being denied the touch so he took one step closer to me and did that thing where he peered down menacingly like a bird of prey from on high. "Angel... I said I was going to tell you everything and I meant it. Why the fuck do you think I drove for days just to find your ass?" "To fuck up my life and get me killed?" "Maybe! Just maybe! But not today! Not right after I finally found you. Like... months down the road or maybe even years I'd do something stupid enough to get us both shot." "Yeah, well, I just lied right to their faces. I'm no fucking VP. I literally have no pull with the Sweets by the rules. If Roy finds out that you're actually a deserter and I'm taking you anywhere besides straight to Max, then guess how many people are going to be on our asses?" "Four fucking thousand?" "That's right." "Well... Maybe you shouldn't have lied then," he had the gall to admonish me. "I just saved your ass, Axel!" He put his hands on my shoulders and swayed me around playfully. "Because you love me. You looove me! I am your boooyfriend! You even saaaid so!" Axel continued to tease me through song and I turned bright red. "That was... Another lie! You're not my boyfriend. You've only been back in my life for half a day and shit has already hit the fan!" The tall, tattooed, dancing idiot gripped my face and bore into my eyes with his. "It's because we have so much chemistry, isn't it? We're just a couple of matches ready to get dragged down that strip called road." "Man... You are a fucking fruitcake." ~*~ We managed to pull out of the clubhouse parking lot unscathed by angry bikers that would never pass up an opportunity to uphold the outdated laws of the road. I had to admit that I had never been so excited to get back on my bike with my helmet on and my backpack straps pulled tightly around my shoulders. Even though the sun was starting to peek out from the smokey grey clouds and warm up the pavement, I donned my tight, custom leather jacket that had been made especially for me by a woman that frequented the Thirteenth rallies. She was a leatherworker by trade and an artist by passion so naturally, every line, seam, and stitch of the jacket was handmade lovingly with great attention. It was my most favourite article of clothing because I had her embroider my dad's riding name above the left breast pocket. All covered from helmet to sunglasses to facemasks, jackets, jeans and boots we rode along the right of the road until we hit wide open cement and took advantage of the long sprawling landscape to ride side by side. You could see for a mile in every direction and it was all fields and farmland for a little while until we cut through the country and ended up right in the middle of a city that was bustling with afternoon traffic. Axel had fallen a few spots back but I could see him in my mirrors. He looked like a mantis seated on a threatening viridian horse that never stopped snarling with his big black round sunglasses and his acid-green bandana tied around the lower half of his face. I had to laugh to myself and shake my head. Axel was not a subtle man and every detail about him screamed something in your face on purpose. He was such a blight of green and holy shit that people liked to honk their horns in tribute and children stared with their sticky hands and faces planted on the windows of their parent's SUVs. I knew that my appearance was no more modest than his. During the first year of Axel's absence, I had poured myself into building the bike that I had started with my dad when I was twelve. It was supposed to be a pink crotch-rocket that suited my size completely but after my mom had left us I didn't want to have anything to do with bikes ever again. The incomplete machine got covered up and put in the back of the garage to remind my father and myself that some things just exist to remain incomplete. By the time we dragged it out, it was a relic of our strained past but also a token to our relationship. Despite all of his flaws and tarnished legal record, one thing remained certain; he had been the best father anyone could ever ask for. It became obvious as we took the bike apart that an update would have to be in order. I didn't want a speedy little sleek bike. I wanted a beefy, crawling candy pink chopper with obnoxiously high handlebars and blazing chrome details on every inch possible. I wanted her to be fast but comfortable and we spared no expense on parts. She was made of the finest metal a biker and his kid could procure. Gazing down at my gas meter, I noticed that I was getting really low and I signaled to Axel that we needed to gas up. We slithered slowly through the cramped city streets, thrumming loudly between lanes of people trying to get back to work after lunch. It took a while for us to come up to a gas station but it was out of the main knot of the city and close to the highways. I wanted to avoid riding through cities as much as possible because of Axel being the call-to-attention that I did not need. "Fuck, I'm starving again," Axel told me after untying his facemask and yanking off his helmet. He kept his sunglasses on and I could see sweat and condensation glistening on his face and in his mustache. "Just grab a bunch of snacks from inside," I suggested. "God. I hate gas station food," he grumbled. "We can stop at a Denny's and get you some more pancakes, princess," I teased. "I could go for that. Breakfast again." "Can you grab me an energy drink and oh! Check if they have those little cream-filled cupcakes. I have to take a piss." Axel smiled at me, "I'm going to make you into a little cream-filled cupcake." "Fuck you," I jested, pushing him away lightly. "I sure fucking hope you do. Listen... We have to haul for a few more hours then I want to find a hotel. You and I have a lot of catching up to do." "Fine then, deserter. Gas up and grab some food. I'll see you back out there." Axel leered and grabbed my shoulder, swooping in with his eyebrows notched together angrily. "Fucking call me that again. That asshole back at the Four's club was right when he said that I can literally beat your ass and leave you in a ditch and nobody would know about it." I shrugged him off, equally as appalled by his words. "Fuck you, Axel. I was just joking!" He shook his head and stood up tall again. "The amount of fucking disrespect I've received the last few weeks I've spent trying to find you is really starting to wear me down. I don't need you accusing me of shit when you don't even know a thing about me!" "Easy! I said I was joking!" "You're stupid, Angel! Why the hell are you even out here? And without any protection at all? You can't tell me you have a gun up your ass. No, you're just cruising out here telling people about your Daddy and fluttering around like a little butterfly thinking one of these motherfuckers won't spike your drink and rape you." "You are being SO dramatic!" I yelled at him. A middle-aged man that was paying at the pump for his gas looked over at us and our parked bikes and then pretended like he saw nothing. "Angel, I've seen some shit. Some real fucking shit that would make you yack. For you to be perusing around biker clubs by yourself is dangerous." "Well guess what?" I stood up on my tiptoes and poked him hard in the chest, "I've been fucking fine without you so far! So I suggest you shut up and take the fucking joke! You can hop on the road going backward, buddy! I don't need you at all! Arrogant prick... You think I can't move the fuck on with my life without you? Go fuck yourself, Axel!" I gasped as he gripped my jaw and started backing me up so quickly I thought I would certainly trip over something and fall but he had me in place and the last car in the station was just pulling away. When I hit a wall Axel ducked in and kissed me hard. The prickle of his facial hair caused me to wince but the taste of his lips made it worth the pain. He pulled me along the wall, gripping blindly with his tongue in my mouth for the door handle to the bathroom. Wrenching open the door, he shoved me inside and pulled the door shut. Already breathless, I pointed at the knob. "Lock it." "Get the fuck on your knees." "Axel, lock the door first." He took one looming step forward defiantly and the blaze of anger on his face only strengthened. "Did you fucking hear me, little girl? I said get on those knees." When I sank to the dirty floor Axel took another step closer to me. I didn't expect him to come at me so aggressively and for a moment I felt like I could be in real danger. After all, I didn't actually know a thing about him even if I pretended to. He could have been a murderer. He could have been in jail. He could have done something terrible like what those guys back at the club had said. I tried not to picture Axel melting someone's face into steaming liquid slurry. "How are you gonna say sorry to me? You make me so very upset when you say mean things. Don't you know it's not nice to call names?" "Um... I'm sorry," I said, voice small and shaky. "Don't be scared, kitten. You remember my safe word, don't you?" I nodded and felt a wave of nostalgic arousal send the first wave of endorphins shooting through my body. Axel smiled and caressed my jaw with his gloved hand. "Well, what is it?" "Mercy," I replied. "Mm-hmm, that's right. Good girl, you remember." It was pathetic how easy it was for him to tame me. Then again, he was so damn bad and gorgeous that it figured he could tame most anyone. He was a living lightning rod of pure erotic obscenity and even more so to me because I couldn't get off to any thought other than the ones I had of him reducing me to a whimpering, wet mess. Nothing else did it for me. Only the memory of him fucking me in a tool shed and refusing to go down on me could get me close to the edge. "Now, if you please, open up that little mouth and show me your tongue," Axel asked, tone shifting politely. As I opened my mouth and stuck out my tongue, Axel popped open the button of his jeans and pulled them down. A bulge of arousal pressed tightly against the crotch of his boxers and I loved the way it looked all bound in fabric and growing. "See what you do to me? I can't even look at you with your mouth open and not get hard. It's like your mouth was made for me to fuck it. Don't you agree, sugar?" "Yes," I said, leaving my mouth open and my tongue out for him to gaze upon. He stroked the salty pad of his thumb over the slick muscle hanging out between my teeth and purred like an engine. "Oh, the nights I spent thinking about this dirty fucking mouth. Your sweet lips wrapped around my cock... That tongue running over my balls. Fuck. Yeah, I think I need that again." The blinking fluorescent light in the dingy bathroom glinted off of every wet surface in the room. There was a puddle in the corner, a leaking faucet, yellowish-brown nicotine stains dripping down the tiled walls and a fat, clear nacre of precum taking form on the front of his boxers that aroused my appetite despite our squalid surroundings. Even though the stench of a thousand bowel-movements permeated the air, I still let my mouth hang open as he angled his hips closer to my face so I could lick at the warm bubble of his arousal. He treated it like my tongue was cold and he was oh so hot, seething just by me sucking on the already wet material. "Shit... You are a filthy little thing, aren't you? God, that's what I like about you. So willing to fuck me and please me anywhere I need it, huh? Such a good girl I almost forgot about your disgusting mouth from earlier. Almost." I reached up to pull down his boxers but he stepped away to leave me clutching at air. "No, no. Not so fast. I know you're just begging to be fed but you have to finish what you started first. Now go on, suck up all of Daddy's precum." He had to bend at the knees for me to be able to reach him but it didn't hinder him from tilting his head back and moaning loudly as I sucked a big dark blotch through the cotton of his boxers. The vulgar feeling of wet material in my mouth made me eager for him to actually pull his cock out so that I could run my tongue along something that didn't feel sopping and gauzy. When he finally hooked his thumbs under the waistband and let his erection fall out I squealed pleasantly and reached a hand up to grip it steady. Axel batted my hand away though and lifted his shaft up himself to keep me from latching onto him. "No cock until you've played with my balls first. Come on, sugar. Suck on Daddy's balls like a good little kitten." I opened my mouth wider so he could drop himself onto my tongue while he stroked his shaft above my head. Even though I was terrified somebody was going to walk in, I couldn't help but hum around him enthusiastically just so I could hear him moan from the feeling. Moisture from the ground started seeping through the knees of my pants and I was growing hot in my jacket so I stripped it off and got back to licking every inch of what he would allow me. Soon he needed the heat of my mouth around the head of his cock and he forced my head back so he could hit my tongue with it. "Yes, yes. Good girls love cock, don't they? Don't they?" "Yes," I replied. "Tell me what you love," he pressed me for the answer he wanted like a parent dredging up the truth from a fibbing child. "I love cock." "Whose cock do you love?" "Your cock, Daddy." "Say it." "I love your cock, Daddy." He smiled and touched my cheek lovingly, "I know you do, sugar. Open up. I want to see the back of that throat." My mouth was assaulted by his shaft thrusting in and out of me like my head was merely a hole for his pleasure and his pleasure only. He didn't concern himself with my ability to breathe between thrusts and I had to gasp for air each time he pulled out to make sure I didn't faint from how hard he shoved his cock down my throat. We only did that for a little while until drool started pouring down my chin and dripping off his head. He pulled my head back by my hair and smiled at me proudly. "You can really take a good throat-fucking. Now, get up. Pull down those nice tight jeans. Daddy needs to pump his little cupcake full of cream." It was disgusting and I hated how when I watched him kick the lid of the toilet seat down so he could sit on it that I followed him. He motioned with two fingers for me to sit on his lap. "Come on, pants off, pants off!" He urged. I scrambled to get them down as I stood between his parted legs. He grabbed me by the hip, turned me around so I was facing away from him and slowly brought me down. We both gasped when the head of his cock aligned perfectly with my open and I eased the rest of my weight down onto him, fully submerging him in the tight heat of my wetness. He lifted my legs up and slung them both to one side so he could hook his arm under my knees and support my back with the other arm just like if I were his little baby and he was rocking me to sleep. "Oh, Christ. I love being balls deep in your pussy, baby. Do you like it too?" "Yes, Daddy." "Oh, fuck, hold still, sugar." Axel used all of his upper body strength to lift me up and down but soon realized our position wasn't going to be sustainable for long and stood up with me still in his arms. He tried again to fuck me standing up but had to put me down when my boots and jeans proved too difficult to maneuver in. With a growl of frustration, Axel ripped off his jacket and tossed it on the grimy floor near mine. "Fuck it, bend over the sink." Only Axel got to watch himself fucking me in the mirror because I was held down with my face nearly eating the faucet. He was wildly rocking into me and grunting, only taking pauses to spank my ass loudly and call me dirty little pet names. "I'm going to come inside that pussy. Know why?" He asked through his clenched teeth, fingers wrapped harshly around my hips so he could pull me in to meet his thrusts. "Because my pussy belongs to you?" I whimpered. "Yes. That's right, baby and you know I like to feed my hungry little pussy all the cum she wants." I started feeling weak when he reached around and toyed with my clit almost like an afterthought. I was so lost in the shroud of lust and adrenaline-laced fear of being discovered that my heart began to beat as quick as his pumps into me. "You like it when I touch your sweet little clit while I fuck you?" He asked rhetorically. Of course, I loved it. My tortured moans were indication enough and when the slaps of our skin became claps and our fragmented breaths became deep panting I knew that it wouldn't be long before we speared ourselves on the sharp peak of orgasm together. He promised to keep rubbing my clit as long as I squeezed my pussy tighter around him. Nodding, promising, begging and doing anything I could to convince him that my body was his to use, he shoved his fingers down my throat and came hard. I was crushed up against the sink with his entire weight and his cock twitching inside my spasming walls. After he pulled out of me the trickle of his cum immediately followed. Out of breath and dizzy, Axel shuffled over to the toilet paper dispenser and began unrolling wads of it to clean up the thick white mess leaking down his shaft. He kicked the toilet seat open once more and dropped the soiled paper in the water. I was still a mess bent over the sink and only smiled after he brought me my own huge wad of tissue paper to mop up my inner thighs. "Fuck, it stinks in here. Let's get out of here and get some fucking snacks. Now I'm really starving." I cleaned up as much of the stickiness that I could but when I hiked my jeans back up and began taking steps towards the door I felt more of his seed working it's way out of me to stain the crotch of my panties. Axel stopped me and nodded towards the toilet. "Go pee. We're not stopping again for another couple of hours." Ever the gentleman, Axel held the door open for me when I was done and smiled as I stepped out of the gas station bathroom back into the light of day. I felt like a sex-crazed vampire that had just emerged from its filthy, bodily-fluid ridden hole. He had been right about us needing to find a hotel because the thought of a shower was the only thing keeping me from feeling one hundred percent like I had just crawled out of a gutter. As if nothing had happened, we walked into the gas station and were greeted by the clerk behind a counter full of scratch tickets, candy bars, cheap phone chargers, and nine-hour energy shots. Axel whistled at me to get my attention and waved a blue package at me. "Look, honey, they have your cupcakes!"

#zeitgeist fanfiction #axel cluney fanfiction #bill skarsgård fanfiction #bill skarsgard fanfiction #bill skarsgård smut #fanfiction

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gentlemanmendes · 6 years

Text

Finer things

so I found this in my drafts and thought I would post it.

warning: I wrote this last year.....

Finer things:

Shawn stood before the door feeling nothing but shame. How was he going to break the news to y/n. She would defiantly look at him differently after this. He felt like a loser, he couldn’t even keep his worthless job. It wasn’t decent but it was enough to just help them live in their crappy unit. Of course y/n had to help as well. She was a maid and said she enjoyed it but Shawn new otherwise. Y/n wanted to be a writer but didn’t have the time having to constantly work just to help keep the roof over their heads.

Shawn dreamed of the day he would be able to give her the one thing she most wanted but now that seemed far from reality.

Finally masking up the courage, Shawn pushes the front door open ready to embrace the disappointment that he would give y/n. He found her in the kitchen cutting up vegetable for dinner. At the moment the two where comfortably living off of three meals a day but that was going to have to change until Shawn found another job.

“Babe is that you?” Y/n called from the kitchen over the loud music that she was playing. She never seemed to mind the fact that they didn’t have a lavish life, y/n was more then content with what she had knowing that it was all she needed. Three meals a day, a roof of some sort over their head, and a man that adored her more than anything.

“I’m making your favorite!” She said in a singing voice as she swayed her hips to the RnB music playing through the speakers. Seeing her in a good mood broke Shawn even more. She deserves more, he thought, A girl like y/n deserves nothing but the best.

When Shawn didn’t respond y/n looked over her shoulder, the smile falling from her face immediately as she saw the sight of her boyfriend of three years. Dropping the knife onto the chopping board she ran to the stereo and turned it down before stepping in front of her boyfriend chest to chest, cupping his face with her hands causing him to look down at her.

“Baby what happened?” Shawn couldn’t bring himself to look y/n in the eyes she didn’t deserve this.

she deserves better, he reminded himself yet again.

“I got fired.” he nearly choked on the words as he said them. It took a few seconds for y/n to make them out because he had said them barley above a whisper.

Even though he would have much preferred to keep his eyes shut, shawn opened his eyes to see y/n’s expression. She was no longer looking at him but staring straight at the wall behind them in the distance, her face focused, eyebrows furrowed, any trace of the good mood she was in gone.

I did this to her.

Guilt flooded through Shawn. Y/n had been well off but her parents didn’t approve of Shawn and cut her off when she refused to break up with him. They had been dating for almost a year and y/n couldn’t believe that the people who raised her didn’t care for how she felt.

Love is worth so much more than money, money could be gone tomorrow but true love never fades or disappears it only grows stronger- she said to him when he refused to continue seeing her. To Shawn it sounded like something from a Disney movie where everything works out in the end and for a short time he believed it would. But this is real life, nothing good comes to good people.

Shawn looked away from y/n, hating the fact that he had gotten rid of the smile on her face.

“It’s okay, I can pick up more shifts at work while you look for a new job. In the mean time you can just continue working at the cafe.”

‘Working at the cafe’. Shawn chuckled dryly causing y/n to pull away instantly, shock covering her facial features. Shawn busked at a cafe for a small amount of money, he did it simply because he enjoyed it and also made a small amount of cash from it. It had always been just a getaway, a way to relax. Shawn hated the idea of trying to help support y/n from that.

“Yeah because we could totally live off of that.” Shawn sarcastically retorted moving away from y/n.

Y/n couldn’t find it in herself to hate him for being so pessimistic, he had just gotten fired of course he isn’t in the brightest of moods.

“Well it’s better than nothing.” Y/n mumbled as she turned back to her cooking a frown still playing on her face.

A tense silence fell between them, y/n searching her brain for anything that could brighten the mood yet Shawn stayed glum, staring hopelessly at the bench wondering how he had stuffed up so bad.

“You know what we could do?” Y/n said eagerly dropping her knife and turning back to Shawn the frown gone completely. “We could use candles instead, dim lighting is romantic. and stuff television, we can play board games.” y/n stepped closer to Shawn. “We can read.” another step. “We can cuddle.” her tone became seductive as she took another step forward. “Or we could do other stuff.” she was now standing pressed against Shawn, her hands holding onto the hem of his shirt before slowly slipping under.

“I’m not in the mood right now baby, maybe later.” Shawn kissed the top of y/n’s head before walking away leaving y/n alone in the kitchen her surprise ruined.

***

A week had passed since Shawn had gotten fired and y/n still hadn’t found time to give Shawn his surprise. She was now cleaning the Robertson’s mansion, usually she only cleaned there house on Sundays but they were willingly calling her over three times a week considering that now that it was summer and their children were home the place was getting messier.

“Y/n are you alright?” Mrs Robertson asked as she walked past the bathroom to find y/n hunched over the toilet wiping her mouth with her wrist.

“I’m fine.” y/n smiled broadly. She wasn’t going to pour her heart out to the woman she cleaned for.

Mrs Robertson however didn’t buy the lie y/n had told. It was more then obvious that y/n had just thrown up in the toilet. Mrs Robertson wasn’t worried about the mess, she knew y/n would clean it up, she was worried about y/n’s well being. She was a young girl who was healthy and spent majority of her time cleaning other people’s houses’, she was defiantly not hungover.

“Are you sure?” Most of y/n’s clients did worry about her knowing that she was young and didn’t have much going for her they felt sorry for her. “Your not pushing yourself to hard are you?”

“No I’m fine.” Y/n insisted as she stood up one hand on her lower back the other on her stomach.

Realization hit Mrs Robertson as she stared down at y/n’s tummy. She was sure that it was sticking out the slightest bit. Not enough to make her look like she had put on weight but enough to think that she was bloated.

“Alright, just don’t over work yourself.” Mrs Robertson instructed before walking off.

Y/n freshened herself up by washing her face and re-tying her hair back into a tight bun. She wasn’t sleeping much these days, waking up early and coming home late in hopes to fit in more hours. Shawn still seemed miserable, he wasn’t having any luck with finding another job.

Taking a deep breath y/n re-cleaned the toilet that she had just dirtied before scrubbing the shower and mopping the bathroom floor. She then moved onto the kids rooms reorganizing their wardrobes the way Mrs Robertson had asked, followed by making the beds, putting the toys away and vacuuming their rooms. She then moved onto dusting the rest of the house.

By six o'clock when y/n finished she was exhausted. She had been up since four am and all she wanted was to come home and cuddle with her boyfriend.

“Shawn, I’m home.” She called out as she walked through the front door dropping her bag by the door. She would pick it up later, being one not to leave a mess, she was just too tired right now.

Y/n walked down the hall into the open kitchen, living and dining room to find them empty.

She walked to the bedroom and that to was empty.

He is probably still out looking for a job, she thought to herself. Y/n stepped into the bathroom to have a shower hoping to wash away the stress of the day. She wasn’t in there long, no longer being able to stand on her own two feet. Wrapping a clean towel around her wet body she stepped out of the bathroom and into the wardrobe wanting only to wear one of Shawn’s oversized sweaters and cuddle in bed until he comes home.

When y/n reached for Shawn’s draw her stomach dropped, it was empty. She looked through the rest of his draws noticing the same thing.

Surly Shawn wouldn’t have left. Y/n pulled on an over sized sweater of her own along with some underwear before searching through the rest of the apartment. Everything that belonged to Shawn was gone; photos of his family, his guitar, everything. Walking back into the bedroom y/n felt weaker than before.

How could he just leave? She wondered pulling a hand to her mouth to cover a loud sob.

She placed herself on the edge of the bed no longer being able to stand as she cried.

Did he find out? She thought to herself, surly he couldn’t have y/n had thrown the tests away. After using five all coming up with positive she didn’t need to keep any evidence. Obviously this wasn’t the time for them to be having a baby, thanks to their financial issues, but she couldn’t control it. And maybe a baby would have brought happiness to Shawn and Y/n.

The hand that wasn’t covering her mouth made its way to her still flat stomach.

“I’m sorry baby, but it looks like it’s just going to be you and me” she sobbed louder.

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes imagines #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes one shot #shawn mendes blurb #shawn mendes headcanon #shawn mendes story #shawn mendes fic #shawn mendes au

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kashmiresims · 6 years

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A Moment of Peace

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Orion couldn’t go back to Cain’s place after what he had witnessed. He figured it would be better to go back to the house and try to settle his thoughts at the fact that his main squeeze was a dealer. As soon as he saw Cypress’s car parked out back, her knew his friend was home, however Orion still felt an uneasy anger toward Cypress after hearing his song being played publicly on the radio and he knew Cypress would become silently judgmental if he learned that Orion was gone all night because he had stayed with Cain. He didn’t know why Cypress cared so much about Orion’s love life--it was Orion’s choice! It was the first time in a long time he’d been able to be with Cain and didn’t regret it.

He entered the house, grabbed the stair rail, and climbed the steps with a frown on his face until he got to the top.

That was odd, the door to his room was open…he could have sworn he had closed it when he’d left the night before. As he approached he stopped cold because he found Cypress sitting on his bed, his face resting on his fist and a look of complete and utter disappointment in his eyes as Orion came into his view.

It caught him off-guard but before he could defend himself, thinking the expression was because of Cain--he noticed a few of the empty Tranquilicis bottles were pulled out of his night stand and placed on top of it.

“What’s going on?” Orion asked, growing uneasier by the second.

“I could ask the same of you. Why do you have all these pills?”

“They help with my anxiety,” Orion told the truth and refrained from pointing out that technically, there were hardly any pills left from those bottles.

“Okay, but Tranquilicis isn’t something you get over the counter. It’s something a doctor has to write a prescription for. Do you have one?”

Orion wouldn’t outright lie to Cypress’s face, and besides Cypress had already probably found the scratched out name on the labels of the original prescription recipient. If he thought about it, he could have guessed Cain wasn’t doing things above board because Orion too, had found it odd the name was scratched out. He just didn’t question Cain because Cain was going out of his way to get Orion free pills.

“It doesn’t matter if I do or not, they help. That’s enough,” Orion grew terse and defensive.

“Are you sure you aren’t developing a dependency? This is a lot of empty bottles,” Cypress nodded to the side towards the bottles. He sounded like his mother.

Orion belted out a scornful laugh, “Yeah, like you have the ground to lecture me on becoming addicted to a substance.”

Cypress stood with frown and came closer, “Hey, we’re talking about something that’s technically illegal here. Besides, I won’t die from an overdose of nicotine.”

Orion rolled his eyes, annoyed that Cypress happened to conveniently forget all the other gross chemicals that caused health issues in cigarettes.

“I’m doing fine. You don’t have to worry about me,” Orion crossed his arms with growing frustration that Cypress was hassling him about it.

Cypress looked a bit hurt at Orion’s abrupt dismissal. But it was Orion who should have felt hurt. Cypress had stolen his music.

“So why do you look so miserable?”

“I heard my song on the radio,” he mumbled.It wasn’t the only thing that had made him miserable but it was the one thing that directly involved Cypress.

“Why would that make you miserable?”

“Because you stole it. You recorded it, aired it, and gave it to the station without even asking me permission. I wasn’t even done with it yet–it was a work in progress and now it’s in a final form as far as anyone listening is concerned.”

“You should be recognized, and since you’re not really playing live anymore how else is your music going to reach the masses? You should be thanking me for putting my neck out on the line for you!”

“I don’t want or need to be recognized for anything!”

“But you deserve it!”

“It doesn’t matter. I don’t need anything like that – I have seen how recognition leads to fame that in turn results in an interrupted life. I am fine with just playing my music for my friends and maybe small audiences if I work up the nerve but I don’t want to be recognized for it—I just want people to enjoy it.”

“You can’t have it both ways. If you want people to enjoy it, you will have to be recognized. People don’t just listen to music in a vacuum and not want to know where it came from or who sang it, especially if they want more.”

Orion just looked at the floor, not believing he was having this argument with Cypress. They never argued.

“Besides, it was just a song about Cain, it’s not like it’s going to be your biggest hit,” Cypress couldn’t help but to seem to snark.

“Fuck off,” Orion blurted angrily. He grabbed his acoustic guitar case from the corner of his room with a rare, heightened temper and left. He stomped down the stairs while Cypress chased after him asking what his problem was and for once in his life Cypress was the problem. Orion knew he had to remove himself before he’d say anything else he’d regret.

What would Orion do without an instrument? Without a way to make music? His prickled nerves smoothed over gradually as he strummed out some of his favorite melodies from where he sat on the park bench before surrendering to whatever music formed as an idea in his head and came out in between the strings. It was still a brisk temperature, now slightly breezy and the leaves were starting to turn bright oranges and golds. He had to stop thinking about the feeling of betrayal. Cypress had been so rash and judgmental but if he would stop and open his eyes he would realize that Orion didn’t write that song about Cain. He wrote it to communicate his heartbreak about Cypress.

Cypress was the catalyst that made Orion realize he was attracted to men in the first place. He had been ambivalent to dating and romance in general, probably an attitude he picked up from Cypress’s asexual tendancies, but after that fateful day when he was sixteen and found Cypress’s hand in his, something just clicked inside him. It felt right.

A part of him still loved and longed for Cypress in ways Cypress wasn’t able to give to him. Maybe that’s why he tolerated such abhorrent behavior from Cain because as long as he had someone else to give his love to, he could suppress his desires toward his best friend.

Cypress had made it clear he couldn’t be anything more than just Orion’s best friend and Orion would rather die than lose such a cherished relationship, so being with Cain helped Orion in more ways than Cypress knew.

Cypress also didn’t understand how much Tranquilicis had been helping Orion manage his anxiety. It was hypocritical, for Cypress to chide Orion about the dangers of addiction when Cypress was smoking a pack of cigarettes a week.

Orion closed his eyes and played whatever melody popped into his head, inspired by natural beats he could hear and pluck from around him—from the sounds of the city to the rustling in the leaves. This garden was a calming place, a place of refuge for artists who wanted to paint or play music. Orion had come here a few times with Nick perform for tips but that wasn’t his reason for being here now. He did it for the pure enjoyment of creation and solace. His poor brain needed a break.

His melody must have attracted a dog, for one trotted up and looked at him expectantly. A fluffy, black-furred animal that looked to be a somewhat exotic breed.

“Hi there,” Orion said, though the animal didn’t understand him. Orion felt himself smile and slapped the surface of his guitar to make a purposeful rhythm as he played and the dog sat promptly, seeming to enjoy the change by evidence of its wagging tail.

Orion couldn’t resist the dog’s fluffiness any longer. He sat his guitar on the bench and knelt down to pet it. It seemed fond of having its head rubbed right between the ears. He’d always wanted a dog but his father and sister were allergic to animal hair so all they had were birds in his family for pets.

“Sebastian!” the dog perked up at a call and Orion glanced up to see a man in a long, expensive-looking gray jacket smiling from down the path. The man said “come” in Takemizese and the dog stood and cantered over to its master.

“I’m sorry, but was he bothering you?” The man asked Orion in Simlish but there was no need. Orion was actually fluent in the first language.

“Not at all,” Orion answered in Takemizese and stood, “I ponder if he might be an admirer of music.”

His comment made the man laugh in delighted surprise and he continued to speak in his native tongue, “Sebastian has particular tastes, though I never knew he was partial to music. What name do you play under? Can I buy him an album to listen to?”

It was Orion’s turn to laugh, not sure if the man were joking or not, but it was apparent he didn’t listen to college radio, “I have not created any albums yet, but if and when I do you could find it under Orion Loche.”

“I should not keep you from your playing Mister Loche; thank you for indulging my dog though,” the man inclined his head and said to the hound, “Follow.” Orion picked up his guitar and started strumming it again, “I could indulge him to a greater capacity if that is acceptable to you; I have never had an animal as an admirer before.”

“I would be delighted if you would accompany us around the gardens,” the man smiled, “Sebastian would be too.”

It was only proven so as the dog began to wag his tail again with exuberance and sniff around Orion’s shoes.

Orion realized he was being rude and hadn’t asked the man his name, “Many apologies, but what is your name? I should have asked during our introduction.”

“It is no worry; I am called Yuzan Bao,” the man replied with a smile and then made a slight eyeroll paired with a chuckle, “Though we can continue our conversation in Simlish—I find my native language to be full of burdensome formality.”

“Fair enough,” Orion agreed and made the lingual switch.

“It’s not common to find a Kashmiri who can speak fluent Takemizese. Where did you learn?” Yuzan asked with amusement.

Orion plucked his guitar strings absent-mindedly as he explained, “I lived there when I was a child.”

“Really? Which area?”

“Takemizu Village. My parents had a home there. They were big into the Blue Jasmine Music Festival—did all sorts of shows for it so decided to just live there year-round and perform across the region for many years.” He smiled remembering his youth. Takemizu Village was a small town nestled between the mountains and so when his parents played their instruments outside, the sound carried back and forth across the valley. It was pure ambrosia for the ears.

“We moved back here when I was nine. So I had a lot of time to learn the language and I kinda had to because of school.”

Zan made an exasperated face of sympathy, “Unlucky, Schools there are so rigid. I hated the drilling—and the punishments for getting out of line.”

“I know right!?” Orion agreed, remembering how he was commanded to recite a poem from his readings and he stuttered the words, being too nervous to do it front of the class and then the teacher hit his knuckles with a yard stick for his bad etiquette. He momentarily stopped playing his guitar and flexed them, the memory triggering a ghosting sensation of pain.

That experience was probably one of the reasons he got so anxious to perform in front of people and why he was so anxious about the possibility of screwing up. This man was the first person he’d ever talked to who even could understand and related to Orion’s experience with Takemizu schooling.

Sebastian made a loud woof to remind Orion that the music had stopped. Yuzan frowned and snapped out “Rude” in Takemizese and Sebastian lowered himself onto his belly and turned over so it was exposed to Orion.

“He is apologizing,” Zan explained in Simlish, “If you give him a belly rub then he knows you have forgiven him.”

“Wow, you’ve trained your dog very well,” Orion mused handing over his guitar for Yuzan to hold while he knelt down to pat Sebastion on his belly. The canine immediately stuck out his tongue and started wagging his tail happily.

“It takes a lot of practice and discipline,” Yuzan replied, returning the guitar and then made an upward motion with his hand. Sebastian returned setting onto all four paws. Yuzan reached into a pocket of his long coat and withdrew a baggie of dog treats, opened it, and tossed one at the dog who caught it mid-air in one bite.

“You seem like to have plenty of it,” Orion smiled, and Yuzan regarded him with a raised brow and it made Orion blush a bit. Here he was, passing judgement on someone he’d just met and he felt like he was in second grade again while stumbling over his words, “What I meant is…that you look so…world class and formal and I thought…”

Orion clamped his upper lip over his bottom one and decided to play more of his guitar medley instead.

Yuzan started laughing aloud at Orion’s blunder, but it wasn’t one of ridicule—just abject amusement.

“I assure you I am not as formal as I appear—I suppose by Kashmiri standards it could be seen that way but in fact, any Takemiseze citizen would claim I’m not formal enough. It’s my curse in life.”

“Not the worst curse to have, all things considered,” Orion noted. He was thinking of his own curse, to forever be burdened by anxiety. Thank Plumbobs for that Tranqilicis and music. They were the only two things to seem to work for him anymore. Both men passed a under an arched trellis that had ivy and white flowers climbing it; where the petals were in the midst of falling off the vines and covered the path. Sebastian kept pace next to Orion, looking upward and almost seemed to be grinning with his tongue hanging out of his mouth.

They passed a garden wall in front of a fountain and Orion took a lean against it and closed his eyes. He felt a slight thump next to him and opened one eye to see that Yuzan had joined him--his back against the wall and with his hands stuffed inside his pockets. Sebastian sat patiently in front of them though made no more barks of protest but only because Orion was still playing his music.

Orion shut his eyes again and continued, feeling a deep sense of peace playing in the gardens on this autumn day, it was in such contrast to how he felt coming into the place earlier and the turmoil he had been through since he’d woken up. r He picked up the tempo of his song. The song wasn’t really a song, just a winding, improvised string of musical notes. He wouldn’t remember it all enough to write it down. It was like a wild animal that couldn’t be caught and tamed—never to be replicated again. Yuzan and Sebastian had the privilege to listen to it and ever know it even existed.

Eventually, Orion checked the time and realized he been out far longer than he had anticipated. He walked back to his guitar case and set it inside despite the heartbreaking whimpering noises Sebastian was making as he walked away.

“I’m sorry but have to go,” he said as he clicked the case closed and pulled it over his shoulder, “It was a pleasure playing music for you and your dog.”

“Do you come to these gardens often?” Yuzan wondered, following after Orion as he made his way to the garden exit.

“I come every once and awhile,” Orion shrugged and admitted.

“I visited it for the first time this weekend and I think I have found it’s my favorite public spot in the city.”

“Why is that?” Orion slowed his pace and Yuzan passed him, turning around and began to walk backward so they could converse face-to-face.

“The flowers,” Zan waved his hand out with a grin, gesturing at the blooms around them that were slowly wilting with incoming colder weather. First frost had yet to occur but they were hanging onto life.

“What’s left of them at least.”

Zan nodded, “Do you have a favorite?”

“Oh, the blue ones for sure,” Orion smiled in remembrance as he kept walking forward, “They remind me of Takemizu. We had tons of them outside our house growing in giant bushes. My mother refused to have them trimmed.”

He noticed Zan had visibly straightened himself and his grin was ever broader, “I have them growing in abundance inside my home here in Memosa Bay where they will never wilt—you should come see them if you miss them once winter comes.”

Orion stopped walking, unsure what to make of Yuzan’s offer. He usually wasn’t this talkative or open with strangers but he felt an agreeable yet uncanny connection with Yuzan. He finally nodded, “I’d like that.”

“To be my friend?”

He was so forward about it. Orion could understand however, why the question was asked in such a way. In Takemizese culture it was considered rude or even cowardly to be anything but straightforward with someone.

Orion had never just been asked directly to be anyone’s friend before. In his experience it was a gradual occurrence. He hesitated ever so slightly to think on it. Yuzan looked to be a few years older than himself though dressed more expensive and sensible than a college student would be. Perhaps he was already graduated with an office job somewhere in the city? Orion hardly knew anything about the man except he was from Takemizu, liked dogs and flowers.

“It is, after all, hard to make new friends when you move so far away from home,” Zan lamented, taking advantage of Orion’s pause and plucked a leaf that looked about to fall from a small hedge. Orion agreed. He’d had to start all over when he moved back to Kashmire. Luckily for Orion, on his first day of school in Kashmire, a boy name Cypress Wellington was tapping out the beats to a rock ‘n roll song on his desk that Orion recognized from his father’s album collection and it prompted Orion to ask him about it. That led to conversations about music, instruments, and the best friendship they had ever known. He remembered those times with Cypress fondly and had to forgive his friend for earlier because he realized there wasn’t a deceiving bone in Cypress’s body, and he really was trying to look out for Orion’s best interests. It seemed this man was looking for something similar.

Yuzan still was waiting for an answer. He seemed so hopeful. Orion could understand the struggle at being a newcomer to the region and it wasn’t pity but understanding that made him nod in sudden earnest and stick his hand out, “Yeah, I’ll be your friend.”

Genuine happiness erupted across Yuzan’s features and he took Orion’s hand in his to give it a cordial shake, “Call me Zan.”

#ts2 #sims 2 #kashmiresims #NOV arc #sims 2 story #my shots

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a-bit-embarrassed · 4 years

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24.02.2020

My first entry. Day one. Today was a good day.

I downloaded MyFitnessPal (not sponsored in any sort of way😄). I have always dreaded counting calories. I don't get it, I don't like it and I don't want to do it. But somehow in the past few months counting calories has occupied my thoughts completely. I have become so fixed on them and the idea of losing weight. I was telling myself "writing down the calories and weighing your food will really fuck you up". But I still knew that weight loss is only a matter of calorie deficit. So I counted every calorie in my head, as if to keep it secret from myself. If I am not writing it down it doesn't count, right? I am not betraying my beliefs and principles, right? So I was constantly Googling the calories in the food I ate and calculating it in my mind. And it was becoming too much. I would literally start hitting my head in hopes to get those thoughts out. I was desperate. It was so exhausting to try to calculate and remember the calories in every single thing in my life. Not just the food. Also the activity. Because I am so obsessed with weight loss, I memorise every little detail that can fuel my disordered mentality. For example, I heard that 10 minutes of vacuuming burns x amount of calories. So I would calculate how many calories I have burned from vacuuming, using the stares, grocery shopping and all sorts of everyday activities. I don't want to be thinking about how many calories I am burning while brushing my teeth! I have much more important things to think about. But when your number one, two and three priority in life is losing weight, you don't really leave yourself enough mental capacity for anything else.

So I downloaded the app in hopes to relieve my brain from the burden of having to calculate and memorise every little number. I decided to be real with myself-I am counting calories in my head. And it has a pretty bad effect on me. Can it get any worse if I start writing them down? I hope not. But we will see. This is a journey. The idea is to try as many things as possible and find what works for me. Right now I am not happy with where I am. Physically I am in one of the best shapes of my life. But that goes hand in hand with major calorie restriction, obsession over food, low self-esteem and all sorts of other not so fun things. So mentally, I have never felt as low as I have been feeling for the past few months.💔

But lets talk about the positives of today. As I said, it was a good day. I told myself to try and give my all to tracking my food. And I think I did a pretty good job. And the best part is that the app calculated a lot less calories than what I would have estimated in my head. I was so surprised! That means that I can eat more! At the end of the day I still had 500-600cal left and I cought myself thinking that I could have some "bad food". And that is amazing! Because I usually would never think to eat any of that outside of my cheat day. And I would feel sooo guilty and bad if I actually ate some. And today was different. I felt free!👏

A quick example is my breakfast-oatmeal. In my head I estimated it to be around 500cal. Which was too much, because breakfast is usually my smallest meal. And if that is 500cal, I don't even want to think how many calories I am consuming at linch and dinner! But the app calculated it at 280cal. Which means....I can eat more!!!🙌 And I definitely need that, because I don't feel that satisfied after breakfast, I am always scooping every little drop left, I get hungry in about 2-3 hours. So far the app has helped me to at least take a hint that maybe I am not eating as much as I think I am. Which sounds great! So for tomorrow I have prepared a bigger portion of oatmeal and I am so proud of that! That is a small win for me!

Enough for today, even though I have sooo much more on my mind. I am planning to do a "get to know me" type of post. My previous experience, some life story, all that. So you know where I am coming from. Thank you for reading all of that😄 If you need anything, fell free to get in touch in any way possible. I would be happy!

#journey #health #mental health #honest #realshit

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how-to-disable-your-text-blog · 7 years

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HtDYT Guide: Writing Borderline Characters

Hi all, Mod Amaranthe here with another guide. I only recently accepted that I am borderline and I don’t have some of the most notable traits of BPD, so I’m sorry if I miss something here.

What BPD is

Borderline personality disorder, also called emotionally unstable personality disorder, is…well, it’s a personality disorder, so I will describe what a personality disorder actually is. Personality disorders are inflexible patterns of thinking, feeling, and behaving that are inherent parts of the people who experience them. Like with any mental illness, personality disorders have to cause significant distress and difficulty engaging with society in order to be diagnosable.

The borderline community is fairly split (ha; I’ll tell you why that is funny later) on whether or not “emotionally unstable personality disorder” is a respectful or even accurate label, so I’m going to stick with “borderline”. Whether or not borderline people use “borderline person”, “person with borderline/BPD”, or both mostly depends on the person, and I polled some of the Facebook groups for borderlines that I’m in and found out that most borderline people say “I have BPD” and “I’m borderline” interchangeably. (I am usually a fan of identity-first language. I might do a post on why later.)

What being borderline feels like

Being borderline feels like you don’t know who you are and everything around you has the potential to change, especially for the worse, at any time. Half the time you hear a friend or family member—especially someone you care about—sound disinterested, bored, or, powers that be help you, angry, you become paralytically terrified that they are going to leave you alone forever. You spend a lot of time desperate for others’ approval, seeking validation by any means necessary, because if you don’t have proof that you deserve to live, well, you deserve to die. You may feel like there’s nothing to you that doesn’t change; you can’t pick a career or a fashion style or a favorite genre of music. You find yourself imitating fictional characters or acting entirely different based on whom you’re interacting with. You might fill what feels like a vacuum where your soul should be with impulsively spending tons of money, getting high, or overeating.

I also wrote a song about how it feels to be borderline. I’m the enemy of my own mind. Always walking on the borderline. The void in my head has me paralyzed. Behind my eyes, there’s no one inside.

I paint my face up like a mask so you think there’s a person behind it. Don’t tell me about that time I cried it off, I don’t want to be reminded. There’s nothing you can do to me I haven’t done to myself. Don’t tell me I’m on my way there; I’m already in hell.

I’ll put you on a pedestal Then smash it and laugh at your funeral. Bathe myself in high-end perfume Or seal my wallet; who knows what I’ll do.

I’m the enemy of my own mind. Always walking on the borderline.

That is a fairly extreme version of what it’s like to be borderline. Some borderline people experience this kind of instability almost all the time, some just enough to cause a significant disruption in their life. I am led to believe that it doesn’t always suck this much. My borderline traits are exacerbated all to hell by my comorbid conditions.

Common borderline traits

Here is a long list of traits a borderline character might have or behaviors they might engage in:

-Fear of abandonment -Splitting (to be explained later) -Self-hatred/feelings of worthlessness, possibly suicidal ideation -Self-harm -Unstable sense of self/being easily influenced by other people’s ideas -Fear of the future -Frequently changing appearance, hobbies, and jobs -Constant feeling of being mistreated, misunderstood, or victimized -Unstable interpersonal relationships (neediness, mistrustfulness, anxiety in interpersonal matters) -Extreme perfectionism -Unusually intense emotions, especially rage; this usually happens in response to outside stimuli, not semi-randomly like bipolar or cyclothymia (I get deeply annoyed when people call borderline “bipolar lite”) -Underreacting when you’re not overreacting -Disordered eating patterns -Using sex as a coping mechanism/to prove to themselves that they’re desirable -“Favorite person” attachments (to be explained later) -Impulsive behavior, especially when it comes to spending money or doing dangerous activities -Substance addiction -Constant need for validation, especially proof of other people’s positive feelings about them (I literally forget that people care about me if they’re not actively demonstrating it; yes, it sucks) -Dissociation when under stress -Difficulty retaining information about people and events -Lack of awareness of how their actions may affect others -Crappy executive function, especially if you have no idea what your feelings are doing and have to spend all that time you should be spending cleaning the apartment wrestling with your brain -Dermatillomania or trichotillomania as a stress response

Favorite person attachments

A favorite person, or FP, is someone a borderline person is obsessed with. Borderline people may think their FP is better than everyone else. A borderline person would walk to hell and back for their FP (well, unless they’re splitting on their FP; more on splitting in the next section). Having an FP is also sometimes called “imprinting” on someone.

Having an FP is simultaneously the best and worst feeling. It’s the best feeling because when they smile at you or say they care about you, it’s like everything is right with the world and you feel amazing. But you’re also constantly afraid of your FP abandoning you, and if your FP isn’t actively demonstrating that they care about you, you are probably wringing your hands about how they probably actually hate you. You also may be jealous of or even hate the other people that your FP interacts with.

Another downside to having an FP is that, most of the time, a borderline person will forgive their FP even if their FP is seriously hurting or abusing them. Mentally ill people are more likely than mentally healthy people to experience abuse (and not more likely to be the abusers), and the borderline tendency to forgive your FP for anything is definitely a predisposition to experiencing abuse.

A borderline character may spend a lot of time thinking about their FP and seeking their approval, and even more time worrying that their FP hates them now. The fear of abandonment will get especially strong when the character reaches out to their FP and their FP doesn’t respond right away, e.g., if the character calls their FP and the FP doesn’t pick up. A borderline character may or may not have romantic feelings for their FP. A borderline character will also be also quick to passionately defend their FP to other characters.

Many borderline people form FP attachments, but not all.

Splitting

Splitting is best described as black-and-white thinking about people. To a borderline person, most other people are either perfect or completely terrible. When a borderline person says they’re “splitting on” someone, though, that usually refers to thinking that that person is The Worst. Borderline people can split on anyone, including their favorite person and themselves. (I spend most of my time splitting on myself, thinking I am The Worst and don’t deserve to continue breathing. It’s very irritating.) Splitting on someone ordinarily happens in response to something the target of splitting does; it isn’t random. Splitting on a favorite person often happens because that person has already been on a pedestal, and when the pedestal gets shattered, a portal to hell opens under it. (Yes, borderline people can either split on their FP over practically nothing or forgive them for abuse. You read that right.)

Splitting on a person and feeling like they are The Worst is often accompanied by feelings of intense rage and hatred. If a borderline person is splitting on their favorite person, there also may be feelings of betrayal. Splitting may often include fantasize about being angry and violent; these thoughts are usually cathartic and help the borderline person calm down without actually lashing out. (Borderline people split; assholes lash out. Sometimes assholes are borderline, but not all borderline people are assholes, and BPD does not turn someone into an asshole.)

When a borderline character splits on someone, don’t write about them acting on their feelings of anger and hatred. Keep it in their head. As I said above, splitting is a borderline trait; assholery is not. If a borderline character’s splitting-related thoughts extend to violence, make sure to clarify that the character would never actually act on these thoughts. They may also feel guilty after the splitting goes away (I know I do). A character will probably only be splitting on someone for one scene; it doesn’t last long. If a character is not splitting in the “I hate you now” sense at the moment, they still are likely to categorize other people as “overall great” and “overall terrible”.

Splitting is a very common borderline trait, but not all borderline people split.

Self-harm

This isn’t exclusive to borderline people, of course, but self-harm isn’t just white high school cis girls cutting their wrists with scissors. Self-harm can take the form of cutting, of course, but here are other forms of self-harm:

-depriving oneself of food or other necessary things like medication -unsafe participation in extreme sports -scalding/burning oneself -banging or hitting body parts -ingestion of toxic substances

A borderline person may self-harm when they are splitting on themselves or otherwise suffering from feelings of self-hatred.

Unstable sense of self and relationships

This has already been touched on a little bit in the list of common borderline traits, but it’s likely to come up when writing a borderline character, so I will go into more detail.

A borderline character with unstable sense of self may have a good amount of trouble deciding what they want to do with their life. They may job-hop or have a hell of a time deciding what they want to study in college, vocational school, or whatever equivalent of tertiary school exists in your setting. A borderline character may throw themselves wholeheartedly into new studies or career paths, love it at first, and then rather suddenly find themselves disliking it. They probably also get varied results on personality tests and those aptitude tests that are meant to help people decide what career to pursue.

Another thing I mentioned earlier that a borderline character might do is change their appearance. Your borderline character may go through many different hair colors and styles and have a giant wardrobe because they rapidly cycle through fashion phases. Characters with facial hair may do many different things with it. When writing this kind of behavior, it’s good to point out that the character isn’t doing it just for the sake of trying new things, but they feel like their new look is an accurate reflection of how they’re feeling.

A borderline person may also frequently change their political stances, religious beliefs, diet, taste in music, etc. These changes may be influenced by the people they are spending time with, but not necessarily. But your borderline character may go through a lot of changes. Expect criticism of your character being inconsistent from people who don’t get it.

Unfortunately, the unstable sense of self in a borderline person can result in them being taken advantage of, because shady and manipulative people might see how a borderline person is easily influenced. (Said shady and manipulative person doesn’t have to be an FP.) A borderline character might end up spending most of their time with someone who is controlling and isolating them. What I’m saying here is that borderline people are susceptible to being abused because of our unstable senses of self. Because of that tendency, we may have unstable relationships with people who hurt us but we aren’t secure enough to permanently leave.

On a slightly less depressing note, unstable sense of self can also result in a borderline character frequently changing the crowds they hang out with because they feel like they have less in common with their former friends. This can also happen with romantic and sexual relationships and QPs, and even with the borderline character’s FP. The people a borderline character interacts with may point out this behavior or how different they seem/how frequently their likes and dislikes change.

What to avoid

When referring to borderline people, avoid saying “borderlines”. That’s kind of like saying “the gays”. Also, it’s language that people who are actively engaged in perpetuating saneism use. The safest language to use when discussing a borderline character is to say “person with BPD”, since borderline people who are okay with using identity-first language for ourselves may not like someone else referring to us as such, and few borderline people object to “person with BPD”.

Don’t write criminals with BPD if you aren’t borderline yourself. I’m writing a story about a vigilante who kills rapists and whose identity is so subsumed by her vigilante/superhero identity because she is borderline and had an extremely unstable identity to begin with. But I can do that because since I’m borderline, I have the knowledge and experience required to separate the character’s disorder from her actions.

Don’t write about “toxic borderlines” or how being borderline affects how an abusive or toxic person acts. Do personality disorders affect pretty much everything about how a person with a PD acts? Yes. Should people without the disorder in question write about that in terms of abuse? NOOOOOOOOO. (This is especially relevant to NPD—the idea of “n*rc*ss*st*c abuse” is an extremely ableist one that floats around abuse survivor circles and drives my abuse survivor cluster B ass up the wall—but BPD gets that kind of crap too.) If you write a borderline character that ends up accidentally hurting someone, you should 1) have them understand what they’ve done wrong, apologize, and not do it again and 2) get a sensitivity reader to make sure you’re doing that right.

Final notes

There’s a lot of diversity among borderline people. There’s no one right way to write a borderline character. However, there are a lot of wrong ways, and since borderline is so ridiculously stigmatized, I would be tempted to suggest that anyone who isn’t borderline and wants to write a borderline character get a sensitivity reader.

*crickets* Erm…yeah, that’s all I have.

-Mod Amaranthe

#Mod Amaranthe #HtDYT #HtDYT guide #borderline personality disorder #BPD #actually borderline #long post #self harm tw

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holisticdeductions-blog · 7 years

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I saw a text post about Dirk refusing to let the Blackwing people take his Mexican Funeral shirt and I wrote this

"Not now." The auburn haired man groaned, as his eyes met those of the new face of Project Blackwing. He bit his lip, as the other man hadn't moved yet, he just stood and smirked. Dirk had to decide if he was going to run, and he had to do it quick. Without much more thought, the holistic detective took off into the opposite direction, and just as suspected the CIA agent was quickly on his tail. It didn't take long for Friedkin to catch up to Dirk, and he grabbed the lankier man. "I don't have time for this today, please leave me alone." He almost begged, trying to get out of the stronger man's grip. The agent just laughed, and half dragged him down the sidewalk. The holistic detective felt his heart rate increase, he was terrified, he didn't want to /ever/ go back to HQ, especially now. "Todd! Farah! Anyone!" He yelled, still attempting to squirm away from Friedkins' hold. The CIA agent chuckled, and Dirk felt the barrel of a gun poke his ribs. "If you don't shut up, I will not hesitate to shoot you." Friedkin mumbled, just loud enough for him to head. The psychic gulped and nodded. Friedkin then held Dirk against the van, easily cuffing his hands behind his back. "Ouch." He mumbled, as the agent pushed him into the back of the van. He heard a click, and his cuffs were attached to the wall. "Guess these guys are rouge wall enthusiasts." The holistic detective chuckled to himself, earning weird looks from the other two agents who were sitting in the back with him. Friedkin got up in the drivers' seat, and they were off. Dirk could feel panic bubbling inside his body, but one of the things being a detective taught him that freaking out isn't a smart move, he held back the urge to completely lose it, stuffing old Blackwing memories back into the basement of his brain. Maybe if he was annoying enough they'd let him go. "You know this is a mistake." He began, and cleared his throat. "The universe isn't going to be happy with you, it'll send you bad karma." Dirk added, in his best attempt to sound tough and assertive. The van took a sharp turn, he yelped and fell back on his bum, and he didn't bother to try and reposition himself. "When my friends notice I'm gone they'll call the police, cause you bloody wankers just hauled me off the street! Yeah that's right, they know about you. I have no secrets with them." He said, then remembered that these guys are CIA so that wouldn't actually work, but they didn't need to know he bluffed. His stomach twisted and turned with anxiety, but he had to keep it down, and continue being assertive. "You know, taking people into vans against their will is a huge turn off to ladies." He laughed, and gave himself a high five through the cuffs. Dirk saw Fridkin's eyebrows rise from the rear view mirror. "Oh my god do you ever stop talking?" He half growled. "Um no not really, you're not the first person to ask me that." The holistic detective replied with a chuckle. Friedkin gave one of the other agents a look, and they nodded. The female agent took out a roll of duct tape and quickly placed it over Dirk's mouth. "Much better." The agent driving laughed. The psychic's body began to shake, he was now disarmed. Flashbacks that he had managed to push away for sixteen years came flooding into his brain all at once, and they fought for a feature. Images of Dirk's past at the HQ flashed into his thoughts. He knew he couldn't panic, especially since they were almost back. He had to look and feel courageous, so that once he was armed again, his weapon of wit was ready to fire again. He felt a lump in his throat. /c'mon Dirk fight back./ He thought of Amanda, Farah, switching Lydia back, escaping a burning house, hugs, laughter, playing music., crawling in windows... Todd. This time going into Blackwing, Dirk Gently wasn't alone, and he knew that his friends would come find him, and get him out of that hell hole for good. Dirk felt his anxiety decrease, though it wasn't fully gone. He felt the van stop, and two sets up hands dragging him out of the vehicle and up on his feet. Friedkin ripped the tape off. "Ow, do you enjoy hurting others?" The holistic detective asked him, as the agents lead him towards a door. "You're just a wimp." The 'macho' agent scoffed in reply. "Am not." He pouted. "I honestly feel bad for Riggins, cause he got stuck with you." The female agent laughed. "You're a funny man, Icarus, but Riggins is no longer with us." At that, Dirk felt his stomach drop. If the old man wasn't leading the project, than who was? "How many times do I have to tell you, that's not my na-." He was cut off by the opening doors. His blue eyes scanned the area, and his body started shaking again. The bad memories Dirk has been working so hard to erase all came back in a storm of furry. He tried to break away from the agents, but they just held him tighter. It was useless. He then came face to face with a woman. "Hello, welcome home Project Icarus." She greeted with a grin. Dirk shook his head, this place was and never will be his home. "It's hardly a welcome or a home, and my name is Dirk.... who are you?" He tried to keep his voice from cracking, but he failed. The strange woman smiled in response to the lanky male's fear. "Yeah whatever Icarus." She completely ignored what Dirk said. "I'm Wilson, and I'm now in charge of this project." All of a sudden, the holistic detective felt like he was shrinking. "Wilson please, this project has failed and I'm not causing any harm, just let me go." He fell into panic mode, and was holding back tears. "I can't do that." The boss replied with a smirk, then nodded to the agents and they dragged Dirk towards a cell. When he got out sixteen years ago, he was under the impression that he'd never have to see this place again. "Let me go! I'm harmless. Please, I have friends now! And work to do! I have a life! Let me out of here!" His cries were useless, and the agents took off his cuffs, and pushed him into a cell, locking it quickly. Dirk was terrified, he hasn't felt this scared in sixteen years, even when the Rowdy 3 used to feed off his psychic energy, or all the times he almost died during the Lydia Spring case, or when Todd said he didn't want to be friends anymore. He sat on the bed, and brought his knees to his chest. "You'll be okay Dirk, it'll be fine." He told himself between sniffs. "Look at little Icarus all alone." Wilson taunted, looking into his cell. "Where's your group of stupid weirdo friends now?" She laughed, and ran a hand through her hair. "They'll find me, and destroy this place once and for all." He replied, his voice a mixture of yelling and crying. "No they won't!" The boss answered in a sing song voice. A pair of clothes that looked like something a hospital patient would wear dropped from an opening in the ceiling beside him. "Since you're staying for a while, you might want to get comfortable". Wilson laughed. Dirk shook his head, there was no way he was changing out of what he has on. He's wearing Todds' old band shirt, and it gave the psychic an odd sense of comfort and hope. "No." He replied, and tried to look the evil woman in the eyes. "Or else." Wilson chuckled, and grabbed some kind of metal pole thing. She clicked a button, and bright blue sparks came out of the top. The holistic detective gulped, he's already been thrown around enough today. He sighed in defeat, and took off his pants, jacket and shirt. He was now standing in his boxers and undershirt. He put on the other clothes, and looked in the mirror with a sigh. "Good boy." The boss smiled, and in a moment of anger, Dirk gave her the middle finger. /something he learned from Amanda./ "I'm a human, you wanker." He spat. Wilson gasped. "You can't throw such gestures and speak like that to me, Icarus." A vacuum from the ceiling sucked up his clothes, but he just grabbed Todd's shirt and held onto it tightly. "Let it go Icarus." "No." "If you don't, I'll..." "I don't care. Dirk moved away from the vacuum and sat on the floor. His eyes filled with tears again. Blackwing had already taken him away from his new life, he wasn't about to let Todd's shirt, the one thing that gave him an odd sense of comfort and hope, be taken too. "Okay then, I didn't want to do this the hard way but." Wilson said, and Dirk's cell door opened. Two muscular security guards came in, one grabbed the holistic detective by his waist and the other tried to pry the shirt out of his hands. "Stop please, I need this." Dirk felt weird saying that he needed an old shirt, but if he was to keep his weapon (his chatter and wit) full of amo, he needed this hope and comfort. The guard shook his head, and kept pulling on the shirt. He didn't care that tears were falling, or that the guards and Wilson are witnessing him cry. He wasn't about to give up this shirt without a fight. He kicked the guard. "You'll. Have. To. Take. This. From. My. Dead. Body." He sniffed. The guard quickly regained a hold of the shirt and it ripped. "You cock!" Dirk cried, as he used all his strength and energy to try and keep the guard from taking the other piece of Todd's shirt. Wilson and Friedkin were watching from the other side of the glass. "What's with Icarus and the shirt?" The boss asked the agent. "It's his friend, Todd Brotzman's." Friedkin answered. "Todd Brotzman huh? Interesting." Wilson chuckled, and with that they went to her office, while Dirk was still panicking and fighting for the old band shirt.

#dghda #fanfic #dirk gentlys holistic detective agency #dirk gently #todd brotzman

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